1d^ /7^oT 


s/ 


SABINA    ZEMBRA 


01  3)3'occl 


BY 

WILLIAM    BLACK 


AUTHOR  OP 


"white    HKATHER"    "MACLEOD    OF    DARE "    "A    PRINCESS   OF   THULE " 

"sunrise"  "white  wings"  etc. 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER  &   BROTHERS,  FRANKLIN   SQUARE 

1887 


d\ 


WILLIAM  BLACK'S  NOYELS. 


LIBRARY  EDITION. 

17  vols.,  12mo,  Clulh,  $1  25  per  vol.     Complete  Sets,  $19  GO. 


S.\niN'.\   ZKMBRA. 

WIIITI';   HKATHKR 

JIDITH  SllAKKSPEARE.  Illus- 
tnilctl  by  AiiiiEV. 

YOI.A.VDK.     Illustrated. 

SHANIiiiX  IJEI.LS.     llhistratcii. 

THAT  liKALTlFLL  WKETCU.  Il- 
lustrated. 

SUXKISE. 

MACLEOD  OF  DARE.    Illustrated. 


GKEEX  PASTURES  AND  PICCA- 

DIEI-Y. 
MADCAP  VIOLET. 
THREE   FEATHERS. 
A  DAUGHTER  OF  HETU. 
A  PRINCESS  OF  THULE. 
IN  SILK  ATTIRE. 
KILMENY. 
THE  STRANGE  ADVENTURES  OF 

A  PHAETON. 


■WHITE  WINGS.     Illustrated. 


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riiu.isnKD  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    SIR   ANTHONY 1 

IT.    SABIE 9 

in.    WALTER  LINDSAY 19 

IV.   FRED   FOSTER 28 

V.    SER  FEDERIGO'S  FALCON 36 

VI.    TO  BRIGHTON 50 

Vn.    BY  THE   SHANNON  SHORE 55 

VIII.    THE    NEW  FRIENDSHIP 64 

IX.    BY  THE   SEA 73 

X.    AT   THE   ACADEMY 82 

XI.    A  FOREBODING 91 

XII.   PLIGHT 100 

Xlir.    REPENTANCE 109 

XIV.    A  ROSE-DECORATED    BALL 118 

XV.    AN  ALLIANCE 127 

XVL    A   BETROTHAL 136 

XVII.    PREPARATIONS 145 

XVIIL    A   WEDDING 154 

XIX.    A  HONEY-MOON   VISIT 101 

XX.    IN    LONDON  AGAIN 173 

XXI.    SOME  NEW  ACQUAINTANCES 179 

XXII.   WAYS  AND   MEANS 189 

XXIIL    AT  A   MUSIC-HALL 198 

XXIV.    DIVERGENT  WAYS 207 

XXV.    ALTERED   PLANS 318 

XXVL    A  MESSAGE 837 

XXVII.    IN  NEW   YORK 236 

XXVIII.    AN   AMBASSADOR 245 

XXIX.    TOO    LATE  I 355 

XXX.    AN   OLD  FRIEND 264 

XXXI.    A  THREAT 373 

XXXII.    A   CRY  OF   DESPAIR 383 

XXXIII.    ALLIES 390 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CIIAITER  PAGE 

XXXIV.  THE   rNTERPOSINC.    HAND 299 

XXXV.  TilK   EXILK's   RETURN 306 

XXXVI.  NEW   QUARTERS 314 

XXXVII.  TOGETHER 321 

XXXVIII.  "  O'  RVdANE    DAYS    AND    .ME." 329 

XXXIX.  NEIOIIHORS 337 

XL.  IN   TIME   OF   NEED 345 

XLI.  A   SEVER^UhCE 353 

XMI.  DARKENED   DAYS 360 

XI, III.  FAREWELL   WORDS..  .  .    368 

XLIV,  A   REVELATION 376 

XLV.  CONSPIRATORS 384 

XLVI.  A   KEEPSAICE 392 

XLVIL  A   KNELL   OF   DOOM 400 

XLVIII.  NIGHT   FALLS 408 

XLIX.  IN   DARKNESS 417 

L.  IN   THE   KINGDOM   OF   GALLOWAY 425 

LI.  AT  CARNRYAN  TOWER 432 

Lll.  AT  A   PICTURE-SUOW 438 


SABINA  ZEMBRA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

SIR    ANTHONY. 


Ok  a  certain  Wednesday  afternoon  in  March,  the  billiard-room 
of  the  Waldegrave  Club,  Pall  Mall,  was  the  scene  of  a  remarkable 
occurrence.  The  Waldegrave,  it  may  be  said  parenthetically,  is 
held  in  much  veneration  by  our  country  cousins  as  the  head- 
quarters of  a  great  political  party  ;  there  the  chiefs  of  that  party 
are  supposed  to  meet  and  direct  the  operations  of  a  general 
election;  thither  impecunious  candidates  look  for  the  sinews  of 
war;  and  the  honor  of  its  membership  is  understood  to  be  the 
crowning  glory  and  reward  of  him  who  has  wooed  and  won  over 
to  the  cause  a  doubtful  constituency.  All  this  may  be  so,  or  it 
may  not  be  so  ;  but  to  the  Londoner,  and  especially  to  the  London 
diner-out,  the  Waldegrave  is  chiefly  known  for  its  noble  hall  and 
its  stately  galleries,  its  excellent  cuisine  and  cellar,  its  pleasant 
outlook  into  Carlton  Gardens,  and  the  proportions  and  decoration 
of  its  library,  which  is  far  and  away  the  most  beautiful  room  in 
Europe.  As  for  the  more  modest  apartment  in  which  this  re- 
markable occurrence  took  place,  no  visitor  is  allowed  to  enter 
within  its  door,  which  may  account  for  the  rumor  that  the  pro- 
ceedings there  are  not  always  conducted  with  a  dignity  and  re- 
pose befitting  the  fame  and  name  of  so  notable  a  club.  Indeed, 
it  has  been  affirmed  (but  doubtless  by  political  enemies)  that  the 
pool-players  of  the  Waldegrave,  safe  in  the  friendly  secrecy  of 
that  upper  chamber,  occasionally,  and  even  frequently,  break  out 
into  wild  revelry;  that  derisive  cheers  overwhelm  the  "sniggler;" 
that  groans  of  execration  bring  the  "fluker"  to  open  shame;  and 
that  the  timid  and  nervous  player  is  frightened  out  of  his  wits 
by  the  sudden  cry  that  he  has  "  missed  the  ball  1"  However, 
1 


2  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

these  stories  arc  probably  not  true;  the  rancor  of  party  strife  is 
capable  of  inventing  anything ;  and  it  would  be  a  pity  if  the 
constituencies  were  to  believe  that  the  Waldegrave  is  anything 
other  than  what  it  really  is — that  is  to  say,  a  great  and  decorous 
political  institution. 

On  the  afternoon  in  question,  one  of  the  members  of  the  club 
went  up  to  the  billiard-room,  opened  the  door,  and  went  in, 
greeting  pleasantly  this  one  and  the  other  of  his  acquaintances 
as  he  passed  them.  lie  was  a  tall  man,  of  about  sixty ;  handsome 
and  well  dressed;  fresh-comploxioned  and  white-haired;  of  debo- 
nair look  and  bland  expression ;  and  evidently  very  well  pleased 
with  himself.  This  was  Sir  Anthony  Zembra,  senior  member  for 
one  of  the  big  manufacturing  towns  in  the  north ;  a  man  of 
enormous  wealth;  a  writer  of  pamphlets  on  currency  and  free- 
trade  and  kindred  questions;  an  active  and  industrious  politician, 
who  might  fairly  hope  to  be  invited  to  join  the  Government,  in 
a  subordinate  capacity,  one  of  these  days ;  and  socially — well, 
socially,  tlie  most  detested  man  in  London.  But  how  could  he 
help  that?  No  one  could  have  explained  why  he  was  so  detested ; 
he  himself  did  not  know  it ;  nay,  it  would  have  been  impossible 
for  him  to  grasp  the  idea.  Rich,  handsome,  bland  of  manner; 
his  wife  a  queen  of  fashion ;  his  dinners  quite  famous  for  their 
excellence  —  how  could  he  be  detested  ?  No,  that  was  the  last 
idea  that  could  have  gained  admission  into  Sir  Anthony  Zembra's 
head. 

"  I  will  take  a  ball,  m'arker,"  he  said,  for  tliey  were  just  be- 
ginning a  new  game. 

"  Right,  sir." 

The  new-comer  walked  up  to  the  little  mahogany  box  and  de- 
posited the  shilling  claimed  by  the  pool ;  then  he  proceeded  to 
get  down  his  cue  from  its  tin  case.  The  marker  gave  out  the 
balls. 

"  Red  on  white — yellow's  your  player."    The  game  had  begun. 

"What  ball  am  I,  marker?" 

"  Blue,  Sir  Anthony ;  the  ball  is  in  the  pocket." 

"  Who  plays  on  me  ?" 

"  Mr.  Herscliell,"  said  the  marker,  naming  the  notoriously  best 
player  in  the  club. 

And  now  occurred  the  incident  to  which  reference  has  been 
made. 


SIE   ANTHONY.  3 

"  Oh,  look  here,  that  won't  do  at  all,"  exclaimed  Sir  Anthony. 
"  Why,  I  sha'n't  have  a  chance.  That  won't  do.  Herschell,  do 
you  play  on  me  ?  Well,  I'm  out ;  I'm  not  going  to  give  you 
three  lives  for  nothing." 

"  You  may  withdraw  your  ball  if  you  like,  Sir  Anthony,"  ob- 
served the  marker. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  do.     Mr,  Herschell's  too  good  for  me," 

"  The  blue  ball  is  withdrawn,"  the  marker  said,  shutting  up 
the  three  lives  on  the  board ;  and  then  he  was  about  to  call  the 
game,  when  Sir  Anthony  interrupted  him, 

"  Come  along,  marker,  give  me  that  shilling  out," 

The  marker  seemed  surprised,  but  he  said,  quite  respectfully, 

"  No,  sir,  you  can't  have  the  shilling  out.  You  may  withdraw 
your  ball,  but  the  shilling  is  in  the  pool ;  you  can't  have  that 
back." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !"  called  out  Sir  Anthony,  with  a  kind  of  stormy 
good-nature,  "  Nonsense !  I  haven't  played,  I'm  not  in  the 
game.  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  let  them  play  for  my  money  ? 
Come,  out  with  that  shilling!" 

The  marker  was  helpless;  he  could  only  look  at  the  other 
members  in  an  appealing  sort  of  way.  And  they  looked  at  one 
another;  for  nothing  of  the  kind  had  happened  in  the  club 
before — no,  nor  in  any  other  club,  most  likely.  Then  came  mut- 
tered protests,  some  angry,  some  half-ashamed. 

"  No,  no,  you  can't  have  the  shilling  out — forfeited  to  the  pool 
— you  joined  in  the  game  when  you  took  a  ball — the  rule  of  the 
game  —  the  marker's  quite  right  —  you  can't  interfere  with  the 
pool." 

"Oh,  but  can't  I?"  he  said,  with  a  good-humored  laugh,  "Do 
you  think  I'm  going  to  let  you  play  for  my  money  when  I'm 
not  in  the  game — you  thieves  and  robbers!" 

And  therewithal  he  jauntily  went  up  to  the  mahogany  box  and 
took  out  the  shilling  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  proceed- 
ed to  replace  his  cue  in  its  case,  and  as  he  walked  to  the  door  he 
shook  his  forefinger  in  a  waggish  manner  at  the  old  gentleman 
whose  superior  skill  had  induced  him  to  withdraw  from  the  game. 

"You  old  rascal,"  he  said,  playfully,  "you  thought  you  were 
going  to  have  an  easy  victim.     No,  no,  not  to-day,  thank  you," 

They  made  no  reply,  no  protest;  the  magnificence  of  the  man's 
meanness,  and  of  his  self-complacency,  were  too  appalling ;  when 


4  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

he  had  shut  tlic  door  a  Icind  of  awc-strncTc  silence  fell  over  the 
room,  and  they  looked  at  each  other  in  dumb  amazement. 

*'  Green  plays  on  yellow !"  the  marker  called ;  and  this  awolce 
them  from  their  trance;  and  then,  as  the  jjame  went  on,  there 
were  questions  asked  as  to  the  probable  dimensions  of  Sir  An- 
thony Zembra's  fortune,  and  the  bic;f]jer  the  flexures  the  greater 
the  distrust.  But  there  was  little  said,  for  the  marker  was  within 
hearinij. 

Meanwhile,  Sir  Anthony,  suave,  radiant,  complacent — and  cer- 
tainly little  dreaming  that  he  had  just  conferred  a  favor  on  some 
eight  or  ten  of  his  fellow-creatures  in  giving  them  something 
they  could  definitely  produce  as  a  reason  for  hating  him — Sir 
Anthony,  bland,  smiling,  and  debonair,  went  down  through  the 
hall  of  the  club.  Perhaps  the  nod  which  he  bestowed  on  his 
intimates  had  just  a  touch  of  patronage  in  it;  but  how  could 
that  very  well  be  helped?  His  life  had  been  all  through  so  pros- 
perous and  successful  and  satisfactory.  His  first  wife  had  died 
as  soon  as  she  grew  ugly ;  his  second  was  good-tempered,  except 
when  he  wanted  the  carriage  in  the  afternoon  ;  the  Times  printed 
his  letters  in  leaded  type;  his  digestion  enabled  him  to  eat  even 
a  House  of  Commons  dinner  with  equanimity;  and  his  constit- 
uents believed  him  when  he  told  lies  about  previous  engage- 
ments. The  old  woman  who  sweeps  the  crossing  at  the  corner 
of  St.  James's  Square  courtesied  lower  to  him  than  to  anybody 
else;  though  never  a  penny  had  he  bestowed  on  her.  In  St. 
James's  street  the  cabmen  had  to  look  out  for  him,  not  he  for 
them ;  he  went  out  into  the  open  thoroughfare  with  a  charming 
nonchalance,  glancing  neither  to  the  left  nor  to  the  right.  And 
so,  eventually,  he  made  his  way  home,  to  a  big  house  in  Lancaster 
Gate;  and  he  walked  the  whole  distance,  for  Lady  Zembra  had 
possession  of  the  carriage,  and  he  did  not  care  to  spend  money 
on  a  hansom.  Besides,  his  appearance  was  much  admired  (and 
he  knew  it)  as  he  strode  along  Piccadilly  and  up  through  the 
Park. 

He  let  himself  in  with  a  latch-key.  The  house  was  very  quiet, 
insomuch  that  a  faint  murmur  coming  from  the  school-room  was 
distinctly  audible.  And  as  the  door  of  the  room  was  open  an 
inch  or  two.  Sir  Anthony  thought  he  might  as  well  pause  there 
and  discover  whether  the  governess  were  doing  her  duty — for 
this  was  one  of  the  afternoons  on  which  nothinix  but  French  was 


SIR   ANTHOnY.  5 

allowed  to  be  spoken — and  it  was  Miss  Renshaw's  business  to 
impose  a  fine  of  threepence  for  any  lapse.  However,  everything 
seemed  going  on  well.  Master  Reginald  (his  father  could  hear) 
was  reading  aloud  a  composition  of  his  own.  It  was  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  character  and  conduct  of  a  dog  belonging  to  a  public- 
house  in  the  Bayswater  Road — "  Un  gros  chien  qui  a^ypartcmit  a 
une  maison  2'>ul>lique  dans  le  Bayswater  Road,''''  was  tlie  youthful 
scholar's  rendering;  and  apparently  that  animal  had  not  found 
much  favor  iu  the  eyes  of  the  narrator.  But  presently  other 
sounds  smote  the  listener's  ear.  A  squabble  had  arisen  some- 
where. "  Voyez,  voyez,  mademoiselle,  il  a  fait  pour  mon  dessin  P'' 
^^  JVon,  non — ce  ii'eiait  pas  vioi — ne  mentez  vous  pas — je  vous 
donnerai — vous  donnerai — une  boite  sur  Voreilley  Sir  Anthony 
thought  this  an  opportune  moment.  He  opened  the  door  and 
entered,  and  there  was  instant  silence.  But  he  did  not  remon- 
strate or  scold  ;  it  was  enough  that  Miss  Renshaw  should  see  how 
his  mere  presence — his  presence,  without  a  look  or  a  word — could 
produce  calm. 

"  Have  you  looked  through  to-day's  newspapers  yet,  Miss  Ren- 
shaw?" said  he,  as  he  strolled  up  to  tlie  chiinney-piece  and  lifted 
therefrom  a  pass-book  labelled  on  the  outside  "  Domestic." 

"  Yes,  Sir  Anthony,  except  those  that  came  this  afternoon," 
said  the  patient-looking,  gray-faced  young  woman  sitting  there. 

And  of  these  desultory  paragraphs  that  he  was  now  scanning 
with  much  complacent  interest,  who  could  guess  at  the  author- 
ship? Perhaps  the  patient -eyed  young  person  who  had  that 
morning  carefully  clipped  them  out  of  the  various  journals  and 
pasted  them  in  the  pass-book  had  also  herself  inspired  them,  or 
even  written  them  out,  for  the  information  of  provincial  editors? 
At  all  events,  they  showed  a  remarkable  familiarity  with  the  com- 
ings and  goings  of  the  Zembra  family,  and  also  a  kind  of  pathet- 
ic assumption  that  these,  and  the  smallest  details  about  them, 
must  be  of  keen  interest  to  the  British  public.  Here  are  some 
of  them  : 

"  Lady  Zembra  and  Miss  Florence  Zembra  will  sliortly  leave 
Lancaster  Gate,  on  a  visit  to  Lord  and  Lady  Petersfield  at  their 
beautiful  place  near  Marlow." 

"  At  the  marriage  of  Miss  Emily  Vere  and  Colonel  Langley, 
last  week,  the  costume  of  Master  Reginald  Zembra,  who  was 
dressed  as  a  page  of  the  time  of  Henry  VHL,  was  much  admired. 


6  SABINA   ZEMBBA.  i 

The  desip^n  of  the  costume,  we  understand,  was  presented  to  Lady 
Zembra  by  a  distinguished  academician." 

"  The  Chapel  Royal,  St.  James's,  was  on  Sunday  last  crowded 
to  excess  to  hear  a  sermon  by  the  Bishop  of  Truro.  Lady  Zem- 
bra and  her  daughters  were  among  tlie  congregation." 

"At  the  drawing-room  held  by  the  Princess  of  Wales  on  Thurs- 
day no  costume  was  more  remarked  and  admired  than  that  of 
Lady  Zembra.  Her  ladyship  wore  a  train  from  the  shoulder  of 
crimson  Lyons  velvet,  lined  with  pink  merveilleux,  and  trimmed 
with  clusters  of  pink  and  crimson  ostrich  feathers,  tied  with  rib- 
bons of  the  same  color.  Her  bodice  was  of  pink  merv,  over  a 
petticoat  of  the  same  material,  draped  with  embroidered  cj-e^^e  de 
Chine,  and  finished  at  the  bottom  with  handsome  chenille  fringe." 

"Sir  Anthony  and  Lady  Zembra,  and  the  Misses  Florence  and 
Gertrude  Zembra,  were  present  at  the  lecture  given  by  Dr.  Felt- 
hurst  on  Wednesday  at  Princess  Hall,  Piccadilly.  Her  ladyship 
formed  quite  a  distinct  figure  among  the  assembly,  although 
merely  unostentatiously  occupying  a  seat  with  her  husband  and 
daughters  in  the  body  of  the  hall." 

But  all  these  were  as  nothing  to  the  description  of  a  children's 
fancy-dress  ball  given  the  week  before  by  a  sister-in-law  of  Sir 
Anthony's,  at  which  all  the  Zembra  family  (except  one  whose 
acquaintance  we  will  make  by-and-by)  appeared  to  have  been 
present;  and  very  pretty  and  nice  were  the  things  which  the 
faithful  chronicler  had  to  say  about  every  one  of  them.  It  must 
have  been  a  gay  scene  ;  according  to  this  flattering  account,  every 
one  looked  at  his  or  her  best;  the  costumes  were  charming; 
Lady  Zembra  was  especially  admired  as  Marie  Antoinette;  and 
Sir  Anthony  Zembra,  as  a  courtier  of  the  time  of  Geoi'ge  H.,  was 
a  most  picturesque  and  striking  figure.  It  was  a  great  success, 
in  short;  and  never  had  the  ballroom  at  the  Red  House,  Camp- 
den  Hill,  presented  so  beautiful  a  sight  as  when  the  children 
were  ranged  in  two  long  rows  to  dance  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley. 

Well,  Sir  Anthony  was  thus  pleasantly  engaged  in  studying 
the  social  impression  produced  by  the  various  members  of  his 
family  when  he  was  somewhat  rudely  interrupted.  There  was 
an  unusual  noise  outside.  Then  the  doors  were  flung  wide  open, 
and  there  entered  liurrieMlly  a  tall  young  lady,  who  was  very  pale, 
but  had  sufficient  firmness  in  the  look  of  her  clear-cut  and  beau- 
tiful face. 


SIR   ANTHONY.  7 

"  Miss  Renshaw,"  said  she,  qniclvly,  "  will  you  take  the  children 
up-stairs?     I  want  this  room.     Take  them  to  the  night-niirsery." 
"  What's  this,  now  ?"  Sir  Anthony  said,  at  once  startled  and 
angry  at  the  sudden  interruption. 

"  There's  a  man  hurt,"  his  daughter  answered  him,  quietly ; 
but  her  fingers  were  quick  enough  in  removing  the  things  that 
lay  strewn  on  a  couch  there.     "  They're  bringing  him  in." 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed  again,  and  still  more  angrily;  but  there 
was  a  shuffling  of  footsteps  outside,  and  the  immediate  answer 
was  the  appearance  of  a  number  of  men,  who  were  slowly  and 
with  difficulty  carrying  an  apparently  inanimate  body  along  the 
passage. 

"  Sabina,  what  is  this  ?     Who  is  this  ?" 
"  I  don't  know,  papa." 
She  was  busy  with  many  things. 

"Then  what  do  you  mean  by  bringing  him  in  here?  God 
bless  my  soul,  what  are  you  about?  Send  him  to  a  hospital !  I 
say  he  must  go  to  a  hospital.  Here,  my  men,  what  are  you  doing  ? 
Who  told  you  to  bring  the  man  in  here?  He  must  go  to  the 
hospital — " 

"  The  young  lady,  sir,"  one  of  the  men  said. 
"Sabina,  what  is  this?"  her  father  again  angrily  demanded. 
"  I  will  have  none  of  your  W^hitechapel  nonsense  here.     Are  you 
going  to  turn  the  house  into  a  public  shambles?" 

But  Sabina  had  made  her  preparations  during  these  few  sec- 
onds. She  caught  her  father's  arm  for  a  moment  with  a  gesture 
of  entreaty. 

"Papa,  I  cannot  send  him  to  a  hospital.  This  is  all  my  doing. 
I  am  to  blame  for  the  accident — and — and  there  is  no  time  to  be 
lost;  why,  common  lumianity — "  She  turned  to  the  footman, 
who  was  standing  helplessly  by.  "  George,  run  down-stairs  and 
fetch  me  a  basin  of  water  and  a  sponge,  and  some  cloths;  and 
send  for  Dr.  Ilungerford — no,  Mr.  Hungerford,  I  mean — the  son 
— and  tell  him  to  come  at  once.  And  you — yes,  bring  him  in 
now,  but  gently — gently — the  head  a  little  higher  up — yes,  that 
will  do ;"  and  when  they  had  got  him  laid  on  the  couch,  she, 
with  her  own  fingers,  and  swiftly  and  dexterously,  too,  undid  his 
necktie  and  removed  his  collar  and  opened  his  waistcoat.  It  was 
clear  to  the  most  ignorant  of  the  by-standcrs  that  this  young 
lady  knew  very  well  what  she  was  about. 


8  SABIXA   ZEMBRA. 

But  as  for  Sir  Anthony  ?  AVell,  Sir  Antliony  stood  looking  on 
for  a  second  or  two,  very  much  exasperated.  But  wliat  could  he 
do?  lie  could  not  summon  a  policeman  and  have  the  whole  pack 
of  them  thrust  into  the  street ;  it  was  his  own  daughter  who  had 
liad  tlie  man  brought  in ;  and,  moreover,  she  said  she  was  respon- 
sible for  the  accident;  and  it  would  not  look  well  to  quarrel 
with  her  before  these  people,  lie  wished  the  wounded  man  was 
at  Jericho;  but  he  did  not  want  to  have  these  rude  folk  stare  at 
liini  for  what  they  would  doubtless  consider  his  inhumanity. 
But  he  was  very  angry  with  his  daughter;  and  then,  again,  he 
did  not  like  looking  at  a  head  and  neck  that  were  bedabbled 
with  blood;  and  the  doctor  would  have  more  unpleasant  business 
when  he  arrived ;  so,  on  the  whole,  Sir  Anthony  thought  he 
might  as  well  retire  from  that  scene,  only  he  was  growling  and 
grumbling  to  himself,  as  he  passed  up-stairs,  about  the  niidsum- 
mcr  madness  of  young  women  who  nowadays  went  out  and  got 
themselves  trained  as  nurses  at  the  London  Hospital. 

On  tlie  writing-desk  of  his  study  there  was  lying  a  pass-book 
labelled  outside  "  Political ;"  and  apparently  his  private  secretary 
bad  done  for  him  what  the  governess  did  for  Lady  Zembra  and 
the  family.  As  he  glanced  over  these  paragraphs — "  Sir  Anthony 
Zembra,  we  understand,  has  consented  to  take  the  chair  at  the 
next  meeting  of  the  Statistical  Society  " — "  Sir  Anthony  Zembra 
has  given  notice  that  on  Thursday  next  he  will  ask  the  Secretary 
of  State  for  the  Home  Department,"  etc. — "  Sir  Anthony  Zembra 
was  present  last  evening  at  a  dinner  given  at  the  official  residence 
of  the  Prime-minister  in  Downing  Street"  —  "We  understand 
that  it  is  the  intention  of  Sir  Anthony  Zembra's  constituency  to 
entertain  him  at  a  public  banquet  in  May  next" — "The  remark- 
able speech  on  the  Land  Question  which  Sir  Anthony  Zembra 
delivered  in  the  House  of  Commons  last  week  i.s,  we  understand, 
to  be  issued  in  the  form  of  a  pamphlet."  As  he  read  these  and 
many  similar  paragraphs.  Sir  Anthony's  brow  cleared,  and  his 
face  resumed  its  ordinary  pleasant  and  complacent  expression,  for 
he  was  glad  to  have  his  merits  recognized,  and  he  rather  liked  to 
contemplate  himself  in  the  mirror  of  the  public  press. 


SABIE. 


CHAPTER  11. 

SABIE. 

Sabina  Zembra  —  Sabie,  her  intimate  friends  called  her,  and 
they  seemed  rather  proud  of  displaying  this  familiarity ;  indeed, 
many  of  the  women-folk  down  Kensington  way,  if  you  mentioned 
the  name  of  Miss  Zeinbra,  would  say,  with  a  kind  of  air  of  dis- 
tinction, "Oh,  do  you  mean  Sabie?"  as  if  Sabie  belonged  to  them, 
and  to  them  alone — Sabina  Zembra  was  a  tall  young  woman,  and 
fair ;  of  upright  carriage  and  well-poised  neck ;  with  a  clear,  pale 
complexion,  light  brown  eyes  that  were  soft  and  benignant,  and 
light-brown  hair  that  burned  gold  in  the  sun.  She  was  twenty- 
five,  though  a  dimple  in  her  cheek  when  she  laughed  made  her 
look  younger,  and  hinted  that  she  was  light-hearted  enough ;  on 
the  other  hand,  her  ordinary  expression  was  of  an  almost  mater- 
nal gentleness  and  generosity.  The  blandness  that  in  her  father 
was  begotten  of  self-sufficiency  became  in  her  the  blandness  of 
grave  good-will ;  she  looked  as  if  kindness  were  a  natural  instinct 
with  her,  as  if  she  liked  seeing  the  people  around  her  being 
made  happy.  But  even  this  cannot  wholly  explain  the  extraor- 
dinary affection  that  women  seemed  to  have  for  this  woman  ;  they 
would  cling  around  her  when  she  entered  a  room,  and  pet  her  with 
pretty  names ;  and  would  send  her  flowers  on  any  birthday,  or 
other  excuse;  and  would  treasure  her  letters,  and  show  them,  and 
say  with  a  touch  of  pride,  "Oh,  Sabie  has  just  been  writing; 
isn't  she  the  dearest  and  sweetest  girl  in  the  world?"  "I  hope 
Sabie  will  never  marry,"  was  the  constant  cry  of  her  chief  com- 
panion and  friend  (who,  poor  lass,  had  not  much  in  the  way  of 
pretty  looks  to  boast  of).  "Just  think  what  her  goodness  and 
her  beauty  and  her  loving  disposition  mean  to  so  many  people; 
and  think  of  her  going  and  throwing  all  that  away  on  a  man !" 
Of  course  the  men  professed  to  laugh  at  this  widespread  and  ri- 
diculous infatuation,  and  declared  that  Miss  Senibra  was  a  wom- 
an's woman,  and  nothing  more;  but  at  the  same  time  it  was  ob- 
served, on  the  rare  occasions  on  which  Miss  Zembra  was  to  be 
1* 


10  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

found  at  an  evening  party,  that  these  hostile  critics  were  not  near- 
ly so  careless  of  her  society  as  in  common  consistency  they  ought 
to  have  been. 

Sabina  did  not  live  with  her  father.  On  a  certain  important 
occasion  Sir  Anthony  had  taken  her  to  task  and  spoken  his  mind 
clearly. 

"Understand  me  once  for  all,  Sabina,"  he  observed,  in  a  more 
than  ordinarily  sententious  way.  "  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  wast- 
ing words.  What  I  say  I  mean  to  be  final.  Now,  while  you  were 
merely  busying  yourself  about  Industrial  Homes,  and  Training- 
ships,  and  things  of  that  kind,  I  did  not  object ;  no,  nor  did  I 
mind  your  visiting  this  or  that  poor  family  where  you  knew  the 
circumstances,  and  knew  there  was  no  infection.  But  this  new 
fad  is  quite  different.  What  will  happen  after  you  come  out  of 
the  hospital  ?  You  are  not  going  in  fur  six  mouths'  training  for 
nothing," 

"  Papa,"  she  broke  in,  "  I  must  do  something — you  don't  know 
how  dreadful  idleness  is." 

"  I  know  that  I  don't  hear  your  sisters  complain,"  he  retorted. 
"They  seem  to  have  enough  to  fill  the  time." 

"  Yes,  but  they  care  for  quite  different  things,"  she  said  ;  and 
then  she  added,  with  the  slightest  of  demure  smiles  hovering 
about  her  mouth,  "  Besides,  they're  ashamed  of  me.  Mamma  says 
I'm  a  dowdy,  and  it's  quite  true.  I  don't  care  for  fine  dresses 
and  driving  in  the  Park.  And  then,  you  see,  papa,  I  shouldn't 
mind  playing  the  part  of  Cinderella — I  shouldn't  mind  it  at  all, 
for  Cinderella  had  plenty  to  do,  and  knew  she  was  of  some  use ; 
but  I  know  you  wouldn't  like  that.  You  wouldn't  like  me  to  be- 
come one  of  the  maids  and  sweep  the  kitchen." 

"  Sabina,  this  is  not  a  joking  matter,"  Sir  Anthony  observed, 
shortly.  "  Let  us  return  to  common-sense.  When  you  leave  the 
London  Hospital  a  trained  nurse,  what  then?  I  know  very  well. 
You  will  be  more  than  ever  in  the  slums;  you  will  be  forever  in 
the  slums;  and  coming  and  going  between  them  and  this  house. 
Well,  now,  that  I  cannot  permit.  It  would  not  be  right  and  just 
to  the  other  members  of  my  family  to  subject  them  to  such  a  con- 
tinual risk  of  infection.     It  is  not  to  be  thought  of." 

"  Then  do  you  want  me  to  clear  out,  papa  ?"  she  said,  frankly. 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  persist  in  this  folly." 

Well,  she  was  a  little  bit  startled,  for  a  girl  does  not  like  being 


SABIE.  11 

turned  out  of  her  father's  house.  On  the  other  hand,  her  rela- 
tions with  her  step -mother  Lady  Zembra,  and  her  half-sisters 
Florence  and  Gertrude,  had  never  been  of  the  most  satisfactory 
kind;  not  that  they  quarrelled,  but  that  their  modes  of  life  and 
opinions  and  aims  were  so  entirely  different.  So  the  ugly  duck- 
ling was  about  to  fly  away. 

"  Of  course,"  continued  Sir  Anthony,  "  the  whole  thing  is  fool- 
ish from  the  beginning.  It  is  simply  ludicrous  for  a  young  wom- 
an of  your  education  and  position  to  turn  herself  into  a  hospital 
nurse,  when  you  can  get  dozens  of  women,  of  more  hardened 
nerve,  who  could  do  the  work  ever  so  much  better.  But  we've 
argued  out  that  question  before.  I  suppose  you  don't  intend  to 
change  your  mind?" 

Surely  his  tone  was  unnecessarily  hard,  considering  that  he  was 
turning  her  out  of  the  house. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  "  I — I  think  I  am  doing  what  is  right ;  but 
— but  you  might  make  it  a  little  easier  for  me.  It  won't  be 
holiday  work." 

"  If  it  is  not  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number," 
Sir  Anthony  continued,  calmly,  "it  is  at  least  the  safety  of  the 
greatest  number  that  I  have  to  consider.  And  I  have  thought 
the  matter  over.  I  am  prepared  to  allow  you  three  hundred 
pounds  a  year;  that  is  ample  maintenance,  for  you  don't  spend 
much  on  yourself.  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  easily  find  some 
quiet,  respectable  family,  where  there  are  no  children  to  be  put  in 
danger,  who  will  receive  you  as  a  boarder,  if  go  you  must — " 

A  sudden,  happy  light  leaped  to  her  eyes — those  eyes  in  which 
"  her  thoughts  lay  clear,  like  pebbles  in  a  brook."  It  had  oc- 
curred to  her  that  she  could  confer  a  kindness!  Even  in  being 
thrust  forth  from  her  father's  house,  her  first  thought  was  that 
there  was  a  chance  of  doing  a  friendly  turn  to  certain  folk  she 
knew. 

"  The  Wygrams,  papa,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  Do  you  think  they 
would  take  me?  You  know  they  are  not  very  well  off;  Mr.  Wy- 
gram  never  succeeds  in  any  of  the  competitions  now  ;  and  this 
miglit  be  a  little  something,  if  they  were  not  offended.  Oh,  I 
know  they  would  take  me.  Why,  Janic  spends  half  her  time 
with  me  now ;  I  should  be  quite  at  home  there  !" 

"That  will  be  for  yourself  to  decide,"  said  Sir  Anthony. 

And  so  it  was  that  Sabina  went  to  serve  her  six  months  at  the 


12  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

London  Ilospital.  It  was  not  at  all  romantic  work.  Occasion- 
ally, of  course,  she  had  her  moments  of  exaltation ;  in  crossing 
from  the  nurses'  dormitory,  in  the  strange  silence  and  darkness 
of  a  winter  morning,  and  looking  up  to  the  vast,  immeasurable 
skies,  with  the  stars  throbbing  palely  and  distant,  she  would 
sometimes  repeat  to  herself,  as  with  a  kind  of  ineffable  longing : 

"Break  up  the  heavens,  0  Lord  !  and  far 
Thro'  all  yon  starlight  keen 
Draw  mo,  thy  bride,  a  glittering  star, 
In  raiment  white  and  clean." 

But  there  was  little  time  for  self-communing  during  the  continu- 
ous labor  of  the  long  day ;  nor  was  she  much  given  to  pitying 
herself  in  any  circumstances ;  it  was  the  suffering  of  others  that 
moved  her ;  and  here  there  was  plenty  of  that,  only  too  obvious, 
all  around  her.  Moreover,  she  was  a  particularly  healthy  young 
woman,  and  she  could  bear  fatigue  better  than  any  of  her  sister 
non-professionals,  although  when  they  got  away  to  supper,  about 
half-past  eight  or  nine,  and  all  of  them  pretty  well  fagged  out 
with  the  day's  work,  they  used  to  joke  her  about  her  sleepy  dis- 
position. It  was  rumored,  moreover,  that  one  or  two  of  the  medi- 
cal students  who  came  about  had  cast  an  eye  on  this  pretty,  tall, 
benignant-eyed  nurse,  who  looked  so  neat  and  smart  in  her  belted 
gown  and  apron  and  cap,  and  that  they  paid  a  good  deal  more 
attention  to  her  than  to  the  patient  whose  condition  she  had  to 
report  to  the  doctor.  But  Sabie  was  impervious  to  all  that  kind 
of  thing.  It  was  only  when  she  was  with  the  other  nurses  at 
night  that  the  dimple  in  her  cheek  appeared,  and  that  she  showed 
herself — as  long  as  her  eyes  would  keep  open — blithe  and  friend- 
ly and  merry-hearted.  Perhaps  she  was  only  a  woman's  woman 
after  all. 

The  long  period  of  probation  over,  Sabina  went  to  live  with 
the  Wygrams,  a  family  who  by  dint  of  sore  pinching  still  man- 
aged to  occupy  an  old-fashioned  house  in  Kensington  Square  that 
was  endeared  to  them  by  its  association  with  other  and  better 
days.  Mr.  Wygrara  had  been  at  one  time  an  architect  in  a  fair 
way  of  business,  and  may  have  saved  a  little  money  then  ;  but 
the  capable  partner  in  the  firm  died ;  things  went  badly  some- 
how ;  and  now  the  old  gentleman,  who  was  as  industrious  as 
ever,  kept  working  away  at  competitive  drawings,  each  time  more 


SABIE.  13 

and  more  confident  that  he  was  about  to  carry  oS  the  prize,  and 
never  doing  so,  but  sometimes  securing  a  few  pounds  by  way  of 
con)pensation.  However,  old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wygram  were  great 
favorites  in  the  artist  world  of  London  ;  and  very  distinguished 
people,  indeed,  might  be  found  together  in  the  scantily  furnished 
and  rather  melancholy  drawing-room — at  an  evening  party,  that 
is  to  say,  with  tea  and  darkly  suspicious  sherry  and  cake  to  crown 
the  festivities.  And  what  joy  filled  the  heart  of  their  only  daugh- 
ter, Janie,  when  she  learned  that  her  beloved  Sabina  was  coming 
to  live  with  them !  Now  there  would  be  no  risk  of  their  chance 
evenings  being  dull ;  now  there  would  be  attraction  and  enter- 
tainment enough  for  all  the  world,  and  she  would  be  accounted 
somebody  among  the  young  men  —  for  -that  she  could  secure 
them,  if  she  chose,  an  introduction  to  Sabie ;  and  she  would  take 
ofE  Sabie's  cloak  when  she  came  in,  and  get  tea  for  her,  and  sit 
by  her  with  their  arms  intertwined,  and  have  her  all  to  herself. 
In  short,  the  arrangement  came  to  work  very  well  all  round. 
The  sum  paid  by  Subina  for  her  board  and  lodging  (though  this 
was  a  covert  transaction)  was  a  certain  addition  to  the  finances 
of  the  establishment;  Mrs.  Wygram  could  be  her  chaperon  when 
there  was  need,  and  Janie  was  her  constant  companion  when  she 
"  went  about  doing  good."  For  that  was  her  occupation  in  life 
— as  many  a  poor  family  down  in  Chelsea  knew ;  and  it  came 
natural  to  her,  and  she  was  as  busy,  and  as  content,  as  the  day 
was  long.  Then  they  had  quiet  evenings  in  the  old-fashioned 
drawing-room;  and  the  plain-featured,  wistful-eyed  Janie  played 
very  well ;  nor  was  she  vexed  when  she  looked  round  and  found 
that  her  poor  tired  Sabie  (who  was  very  unconscionable  in  this 
respect)  had  dropped  into  a  little  snooze ;  and  sometimes  they 
had  a  game  at  whist,  too;  and  sometimes  a  few  young  people 
would  drop  in,  and  they  would  have  a  pretence  of  supper,  and  a 
bit  of  a  carpet  dance.  But  always  these  young  people — and  es- 
pecially the  young  men — treated  Sabina  with  a  certain  deference. 
It  was  not  that  she  was  in  any  way  socially  their  superior,  for 
that  was  not  the  case;  the  Wygrams  had  a  very  excellent  circle 
of  friends  and  acquaintances.  It  was  rather  something  in  her 
manner  that  distinguished  her  from  them.  One  would  almost 
have  taken  her  for  a  young  and  gentle-eyed  matron  looking  on — 
not  without  sympathy  and  pleasure — at  the  amusements  of  those 
boys  and  girls.     She  enjoyed  their  merriment  as  much  as  they 


14  SABINA   ZEMBKA. 

did ;  and  her  lan2;b  was  ready  and  quite  youthful  and  joyous 
when  anything  ridiculous  happened;  but  ordinarily  there  was  a 
kind  of  serious  sweetness  and  grave  kindliness  in  her  eyes  that 
seemed  to  keep  her  a  little  bit  apart.  She  preferred  to  be  a 
spectator — but  surely  a  friendly  one. 

Of  course  she  occasionally  went  up  to  see  the  family  at  Lan- 
caster Gate,  when  she  could  solemnly  assure  them  she  had  been 
rear  no  infectious  case ;  and  it  was  on  one  of  those  visits  that 
there  occurred  the  unfortunate  accident  already  referred  to.  She 
had  chosen  a  Wednesday  afternoon,  knowing  that  her  father  would 
be  early  home  from  the  House  of  Commons ;  but  when  she  got 
to  Lancaster  Gate  she  found  he  had  not  arrived;  Lady  Zembra 
and  Florence  and  Gertrude  were  out  driving;  the  children  were 
busy  in  the  school-room.  The  only  living  thing  to  welcome  her 
was  the  little  spaniel.  Busy — an  old  friend  and  ally  of  hers;  and 
it  occurred  to  her  that,  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  waiting,  she 
might  as  well  take  the  dog  for  a  bit  of  a  run  along  the  Bayswater 
Road  and  back.  He  was  nothing  loath,  it  may  be  guessed,  and 
so  she  opened  the  door,  and  they  went  down  the  steps  and  made 
for  the  front  pavement. 

What  next  occurred  may  take  some  minutes  to  tell,  but  it 
seemed  to  her  to  happen  all  in  one  wild  second. 

"  Now,  come  here,  Busy,  you  keep  close  to  me,"  she  had  said 
on  leaving  the  house,  for  she  knew  the  habits  of  the  spaniel  kind, 
and  that  this  one  delighted  in  nothing  so  much  as  scampering 
about  in  the  open  thoroughfare — amid  cabs  and  omnibuses  and 
carriages — and  always  with  his  nose  down,  as  if  he  expected  to 
flush  a  pheasant  in  the  middle  of  Bayswater  Road.  Busy  paid 
heed  to  his  mistress  so  long  as  she  spoke  to  him  ;  the  moment 
they  had  reached  the  pavement  lie  was  off — careless  of  anything 
that  might  be  coming  along.  She  angrily  called  to  him  to  come 
back;  he  turned  in  his  scamper,  but  still  with  his  nose  down — 
and,  alas !  at  the  same  instant  she  knew,  rather  than  saw,  that 
some  one  on  a  bicycle,  coming  at  an  alarming  speed,  was  almost 
on  the  dog. 

"  Look  out !     Take  care  !"  she  cried. 

Now,  no  doubt  the  bicyclist  had  seen  the  little  spaniel ;  and  it 
is  also  possible  that  Busy  might  have  got  out  of  harm's  way  un- 
aided ;  but  at  all  events  her  sudden  cry  seemed  to  startle  this 
young  fellow,  who  was  coming  along  at  such  a  rate,  and  probably 


SABIE.  15 

from  gallantry  as  rnuch  as  anything  else,  he  swerved  sharply  from 
his  course,  to  make  quite  sure  of  missing  the  spaniel.  Unliappily, 
at  this  precise  spot  there  was  a  little  heap  of  gravel,  used  for  scat- 
tering over  the  wooden  pavement,  lying  by  the  roadway,  and  ap- 
parently the  bicycle  caught  on  some  of  the  pebbles ;  the  next 
thing  she  saw  Avas  some  terrible  thing  hurling  through  the  air  and 
striking  heavily  against  the  curbstone,  where  it  lay  motionless. 
The  blood  forsook  her  face,  but  her  courage  was  firm  enough ; 
she  was  at  his  side  in  a  moment,  trying  to  raise  his  head,  and  then 
a  few  by-standers  came  hurrying  up,  and  she  besought  them  to 
carry  him  into  her  father's  house.  White  as  her  face  was,  she 
seemed  cahn  and  collected ;  there  was  an  air  of  authority  about 
her;  they  did  not  even  suggest  the  hospital.  Nor,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, did  she  pay  much  heed  to  her  father's  remonstrances  ;  her 
hands  were  full  of  work  —  work  that  she  knew;  moreover,  Sir 
Anthony  almost  immediately  retired,  grumbling.  She  was  left 
alone  to  deal  with  the  wounded  man,  a  maid  assisting  her,  for  the 
footman,  George,  had  rushed  oflE  to  summon  the  surgeon. 

"  Pore  young  gentleman !  pore  young  gentleman  !"  the  maid 
kept  saying,  and  was  rather  inclined  to  look  on,  in  a  feebly  com- 
miserating attitude ;  but  her  pale-lipped  young  mistress  had  no 
time  for  mere  pity. 

"  Catherine,  get  some  calico — quick ;  and  cut  it  into  strips,  and 
put  them  into  cold  water — look  alive !" 

For  there  was  a  bad  scalp -wound  oa  the  side  of  the  young 
man's  head,  and  she  had  to  stanch  the  blood,  and  thereafter  bind 
the  cold,  wet  bandages  round  it.  He  lay  in  a  heavy  stupor,  only 
that  once  he  murmured  the  words  "cherry  blossom,"  and,  busy  as 
she  was,  it  seemed  pathetic  to  her  that  he  should  "  babble  o'  green 
fields."  And  then,  when  she  had  bandaged  his  head,  she  passed 
her  hands  lightly  over  his  neck  and  back  and  shoulders,  and  pret- 
ty well  satisfied  herself  that  there  was  no  serious  fracture  or  dis- 
location ;  nevertheless,  she  was  anxious  that  the  surgeon  should 
appear  forthwith. 

She  was  moistening  her  patient's  lips  with  cold  water  when  he 
drew  a  long  breath  and  slowly  opened  his  eyes.  He  looked  at 
her  with  a  kind  of  mild  wonder,  and  then  at  the  room  around 
him  ;  then  he  seemed  to  recollect. 

"Tliat  was  a  nasty  one,"  he  managed  to  say.  "Did  I  hurt 
the  doer  2" 


16  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"Oh  no,  you  did  not,"  Sabina  said,  quickly.  "Pray  don't 
think  of  that.  I  ara  so  sorry.  It  was  all  my  fault.  I  should 
not  have  called  to  you — I  am  so  sorry." 

"Oh,  don't  trouble  about  me,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  kind  of 
smile  —  for  the  shock  and  loss  of  blood  had  weakened  him. 
"This  isn't  my  first  cropper.  There  are  no  bones  broken,  I  sup- 
pose— " 

"I  think  not — I  think  not,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "And  there 
will  be  a  surgeon  here  directly." 

"  But  whose  house  is  this  ?"  he  asked — it  was  all  that  he  dared 
to  ask. 

"  Sir  Anthony  Zembra's,"  Sabina  answered ;  and  she  added, 
without  embarrassment,  "I  am  his  daughter.  It  was  my  little 
dog  that  made  the  mischief — or  rather,  I  did  myself.  I  do  hope 
you  arc  not  seriously  hurt." 

"  Hurt  ?  "No,  no — don't  you  bother.  I  shall  be  all  right,"  he 
said. 

He  was  a  fairly  good-looking  young  fellow  of  some  six  or 
seven  and  twenty,  with  clear  blue  eyes,  curly  but  short-cropped 
hair  of  a  reddish  yellow,  and  a  healthy  pink-and-white  complex- 
ion that  had  got  a  wash  of  sun-tan  over  it.  Clearly  he  had  lived 
much  in  the  open  air;  and  his  frame  seemed  wiry  and  vigorous, 
with  not  an  ounce  of  spare  fat  on  it  anywhere.  As  for  guessing 
at  his  profession  or  calling  or  social  status,  that  was  not  easy,  see- 
ing that  he  was  clad  in  a  bicycling  suit;  but  his  manner  was 
well  enough,  and  he  seemed  good-natured. 

Suddenly  he  uttered  a  little  involuntary  exclamation,  and  bit 
his  under-lip. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  said,  instantly. 

"My  knee — and  I  hardly  moved  it — oh,  thunder!" 

The  pain  in  his  face  was  obvious  ;  and  he  was  about  to  make 
some  clfort  to  raise  himself,  when  she  caught  him,  and  caught 
him  firmly. 

"No,  no;  you  must  not  move  on  any  account — it  may  be  se- 
rious; you  must  lie  perfectly  still  till  the  doctor  comes." 

"Yes,  but  when  is  he  coming?"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  im- 
patience. "  If  I  have  broken  my  leg,  I  want  to  know.  You 
don't  understand  what  that  would  mean  to  me." 

"  You  have  not  broken  your  leg,"  said  she,  calmly,  "  but  you 
may  have  injured  your  knee."     And  then  she  added,  without  any 


SABIE.  17 

false  shame  or  hesitation, "  If  you  like,  I  will  see  what  harm  is 
done,  and  tell  you.  I  know  about  these  things;  I  have  been  in 
a  hospital.  Or  if  you  would  rather  wait,  I  am  sure  the  doctor 
will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Oil,  of  course  I  will  wait — I  could  not  think  of  troubling 
you,"  he  said,  instantly. 

"  And  in  the  mean  time  I  will  make  a  splint,"  said  she,  "  just 
in  case  it  should  be  necessary.  Catherine,  run  and  get  me  some 
cotton-wool." 

She  went  to  the  table,  tore  the  cover  off  one  of  the  children's 
drawing-books,  and  cut  a  strip  of  the  thick  pasteboard  about  three 
inches  wide  and  over  a  dozen  long;  and  she  was  in  the  act  of 
swathing  the  improvised  splint  in  cotton-wool  when  the  young 
surgeon  arrived.  Everything  she  had  done  he  approved  of;  but 
he  was  not  surprised ;  he  was  well  aware  of  Miss  Zembra's  quali- 
fications. Then  came  the  examination  of  the  knee,  and  that  was 
simple  enough,  for  he  had  merely  to  unbuckle  the  knee-band  of 
the  knickerbockers ;  but  the  next  moment  he  had  grown  grave. 
Sabina  had  withdrawn  a  step  or  two ;  her  assistance  was  not 
needed. 

"  What  is  it,  doctor?"  the  young  man  said,  noticing  that  look. 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you  that  you've  dislocated  your 
knee-cap,  and  there's  a  bad  bruise  besides.  Miss  Zembra,  I  haven't 
brought  anything  with  me — your  man  met  me  in  the  street — " 

Sabina  came  forward. 

"  Here  is  a  kind  of  a  splint,"  she  said,  "  and  I  think  there's 
enough  calico  here  for  a  figure-of-eight  bandage — if  that  will  do 
in  the  mean  time — " 

"In  the  mean  time  that  will  do  excellently,  until  I  run  home 
and  get  some  things." 

"But,  doctor,"  the  young  man  on  the  couch  said,  and  he  was 
rather  pale  now,  partly  from  loss  of  blood,  no  doubt,  but  also 
partly  from  anxiety,  "  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  Is  it  really  so 
bad?  You  don't  mean  that  I'm  to  be  laid  up  with  a  splint? 
AVhy,  how  soon — how  soon,  now,  shall  I  be  all  right  again  ?  Not 
long,  surely  !" 

"  I  don't  wish  to  alarm  you,"  the  surgeon  said,  in  reply,  "  but 
I  ought  to  warn  you  that  it  is  a  rather  serious  case,  and  that  the 
greatest  care  will  be  wanted.  Even  then  it  may  be  months  before 
you  can  put  your  foot  to  the  ground." 


18  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

"God  bless  me,  you  don't  know  what  you're  saying!"  the 
young  man  cried,  faintly,  and  very  white  his  face  was  now. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  do,"  the  surgeon  said,  quietly. 

The  other  remained  silent  for  a  second  or  two ;  then  he  said, 
with  a  kind  of  forced  resignation, 

"  When  can  I  be  taken  to  my  own  rooms?" 

The  doctor  turned  to  Sabina. 

"It  is  a  serious  case,"  said  he;  "I  would  not  advise  his  re- 
moval, if  your  people  would  not  mind  letting  him  have  the  use 
of  this  room,  for  a  few  days  even." 

"  Oh,  but  they  must;  of  course  they  will,"  Sabina  exclaimed, 
eagerly.  "  Oh,  you  don't  know,  doctor ;  it  was  all  my  fault  that 
the  accident  happened  ;  I  am  more  grieved  about  it  than  I  can  say ; 
I  cannot  even  think  of  it;  and  what  we  can  do  we  must  do  ;  but 
how  can  I  ever  atone  for  such  an  injury  ?" 

"  The  young  lady  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  the  maimed 
man;  but  he  had  to  hold  his  breath  now,  for  the  surgeon  was 
about  to  put  his  knee  in  the  splint. 

By-and-by,  when  the  doctor  was  giving  a  few  parting  direc- 
tions to  Sabina  (who  had  already  installed  herself  as  nurse,  the 
maid  Catherine  assisting),  and  promising  to  be  back  shortly,  the 
young  man  on  the  couch  called  to  him  in  ratlier  a  faint  voice, 

"  Doctor !" 

"Yes?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  me  a  favor,  will  you?" 

"Certainly." 

"  When  you  are  out,  will  you  go  to  a  telegraph  office  and  wire 
to  the  duke — the  Duke  of  Exminster — that  I  sha'n't  be  able  to 
ride  Cherry  Blossom  for  him  in  the  Grand  National  ?  It's  hard 
luck,  it  is.  Twenty  times  have  I  dreamed  of  lifting  the  old  horse 
over  Valentine's  Brook.  Don't  forget — the  Duke  of  Exminster 
— he's  at  llelmslcy  just  now.  Well,  it's  liard  luck;  I  knew  the 
horse.  Nobody  else  can  do  anything  with  him  but  myself.  I 
could  see  us  over  the  ditch  and  rail-fence  near  the  bridge,  and 
fairly  in  the  line  for  home.  Poor  old  Cherry  Blossom — it's  very 
hard  luck." 

"  And  from  whom  shall  I  telegraph  ?"  the  doctor  said,  gently. 

"  Oh,  my  name,  you  mean  ?  Fred  Foster,  Bury  Street :  the 
duke  knows." 

Sabina  had  left  the  room  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  so  remained 


WALTER   LINDSAY.  19 

undeceived  as  to  the  mistake  she  had  made  about  his  having  "  bab- 
bled o'  green  fields."  But  that  was  not  of  much  account,  perhaps. 
What  was  of  more  account,  at  least  to  one  very  tender  heart, 
was  that  poor  Janie  Wygrani  was  now  to  be  deprived  for  many 
a  long  day  to  come  of  the  society  and  companionship  of  her  be- 
loved Sabie. 


CHAPTER  in. 

WALTER    LINDSAY. 


It  is  rather  a  sorry  thing  in  these  times  to  have  to  speak  of  a 
man  who  is  in  love ;  for  in  the  eyes  of  most  people — especially 
of  the  young  men  of  the  day — he  seems  to  be  considered  a  sen- 
timental jackass ;  unless,  indeed,  the  woman  he  is  in  love  with 
should  happen  to  be  a  married  woman,  and  then  tlie  whole  situa- 
tion becomes  intelligible,  and  even  something  to  be  mildly  envied. 
However,  Walter  Lindsay  was  in  love,  and  very  much  in  love; 
and  not  with  a  married  woman,  but  with  Sabina  Zembra. 

"  Poor  fellow  1"  Janie  Wygram  would  say  to  her  mother,  "  I  do 
believe  he  is  the  most  wretched  man  in  this  country  ;  and  yet  you 
would  think  he  had  everything  that  a  human  being  could  wish 
for.  Good-looking — well,  I  call  him  most  distinguished-looking 
— and  handsome,  with  pleasant  manners,  a  favorite  everywhere, 
every  woman  anxious  to  have  him  at  her  house;  and  people  be- 
ginning to  speak  of  him  as  almost,  if  not  quite,  the  first  land- 
scape-painter in  England  ;  with  a  splendid  career  before  him,  with 
plenty  of  money,  a  beautiful  house,  and  heaps  of  friends ;  and 
then  his  family — well,  no  wonder  he  is  a  little  proud  of  the  Lind- 
says of  Carnryan,  and  of  the  old  tower  overlooking  the  sea :  just 
think  of  all  that,  mother;  and  I  know  it  is  all  worthless  to  him 
just  because  he  cannot  have  Sabie's  love — and  Sable's  love  he 
never  will  have  in  this  world." 

"Don't  be  so  sure,"  the  mother  would  answer. 

"  Ah,  but  I  know,"  the  plain-featured,  gray-eyed  Janie  would 
continue  (and  she  seemed  rather  to  like  talking  about  Miss  Zem- 
bra). "I  know  the  only  way  to  win  Sabie's  love:  it's  through 
her  pity.  If  you're  poor  or  ragged  or  suffering,  and  look  to  her 
for  help — that  is  the  only  way.     Then  her  eyes  grow  soft.     But 


20  BABINA  ZEMBBA. 

why  sliould  she  pity  Mr.  Lindsay,  or  take  any  interest  in  him  ? 
He  has  everything  the  world  can  give  him — liandsomc,  famous, 
with  plenty  of  money,  and  plenty  of  friends — how  should  he  ap- 
peal to  her  pity  ?" 

"Don't  you  say  that  he  is  miserable?" 

Janie  smiled  a  little,  but  not  out  of  malice. 

"  She  doesn't  understand  that  hind  of  misery ;  no,  nor  that 
kind  of  love,  either.  If  you  speak  to  her  of  that  kind  of  love 
she  only  laughs  and  turns  away.  Sabie  will  never  marry — 
never." 

"  Don't  be  so  sure,"  the  mother  would  repeat :  she  had  seea 
more  things  happen  than  her  daugliter  had. 

"Ah,  but  I  know.  And  why  should  she  marry?  Doesn't  she 
see  how  great  a  delight  she  can  give  to  so  many  people?  And 
it's  so  easy  for  her,  mother.  She  has  only  to  smile  and  look 
pleased,  and  people  are  grateful.  When  she  comes  into  a  room 
it's  like  bringing  sunlight:  everybody's  face  brightens  up.  I 
wonder,"  continued  Janie  Wygram,  rather  wistfully,  "  if  beauti- 
ful people  know  how  thankful  they  should  be  for  their  beauty  ? 
I  wonder  if  they  know  how  easy  it  is  for  them  to  make  friends 
— and  to  be  kind — " 

"  I  wish  you  would  stop  talking  about  her,"  her  mother  would 
probably  interpose  at  this  juncture.  "She  has  made  a  fool  of 
you." 

"  And  you,  mother  ?  You  don't  see  much  in  Sabie  ?  Well,  it's 
a  shame  to  speak  of  her  as  if  it  was  only  her  beauty.  It's  her 
goodness.     She's  '  better  than  she's  bonny  ' — if  that  is  possible." 

"She  has  got  a  stanch  champion,  anyway." 

One  afternoon  the  young  artist  whose  name  was  introduced  so 
frequently  in  their  repeated  conversations  was  in  his  studio,  up 
Ladbroke  Grove  way,  and  he  was  seated  at  an  open  piano,  though 
he  was  not  playing.  He  was  a  man  of  about  eight-and-twenty  or 
thirty,  tall  and  spare,  pale  of  face,  with  perfectly  coal-black  hair 
and  black  eyes,  that  were  contemplative  rather  than  observant — at 
least  they  were  so  at  this  moment.  The  studio  was  a  large  and 
liandsome  apartment,  hung  with  tapestry,  and  stored  with  all 
kinds  of  bric-a-brac,  that  spoke  of  Spain,  and  Tunis,  and  Egypt 
mostly,  though  there  w-as  a  nondescript  and  picturesque  variety 
and  confusion  prevailing  throughout.  Damascus- ware  jugs,  old 
violins,  bits  of  Italian  embroidery,  Indian  swords,  eightcenth-cen- 


WALTER    LINDSAY.  21 

tnry  ale-jnp;s,  Sheraton  chairs,  pictures  framed  and  unfraraed,  pho- 
tographs of  popular  actresses,  wooden  pipes,  sheaves  of  brushes, 
books,  stray  music,  invitation  cards,  Persian  rugs,  Rhodian  dishes, 
tennis-balls,  cigar-boxes,  Syrian  silks,  all  were  flung  together  any- 
how ;  but  besides  these  ordinary  paraphernalia  of  a  modern  stu- 
dio, there  were  certain  "properties"  more  particularly  wanted  for 
the  landscape  artist's  special  work — a  great  mass  of  freshly  cut 
golden-blossomed  furze,  a  sheaf  of  dried  bulrushes,  the  stem  of  a 
birch-tree  with  its  hanging  silvery  flakes,  and  everywhere  bunches 
of  early  spring  flowers  stuck  carelessly  into  pots.  And  yet  there 
was  a  kind  of  harmony  in  all  this  entanglement  of  things;  they 
seemed  appropriate.  Perhaps  the  sombre  grayness  of  the  after- 
noon had  its  effect.  And  perhaps,  too,  that  had  its  effect  on  the 
mind  of  the  young  man  sitting  at  the  piano.  When  he  put  his 
fingers  on  the  keys  it  was  in  a  musing  kind  of  way,  and  the  chance 
bits  of  Mendelssohn  or  Chopin  that  he  absently  played  seemed  to 
come  unsought  for,  as  if  it  were  his  memory  that  was  speaking  to 
him.  Sometimes  his  fingers  rested  idle,  and  then  the  silence  was 
almost  painfully  distinct,  for  the  studio  was  separated  from  the 
house  by  a  strip  of  garden,  and  there  was  not  even  the  ticking  of 
a  clock  to  be  heard,  lie  played  one  or  two  little  waltzes  by  Mo- 
zart— curiously  quaint  and  simple  and  melodious.  lie  hummed  to 
himself,  as  he  touched  the  notes,  Lillo's 

"  Ritorna  ch'io  t'amo,  mio  primo  sospir." 

But  by-and-by  this  languid  and  careless  occupation  ceased  alto- 
gether;  he  sat  for  a  little  time  plunged  in  a  vague  reverie,  and 
then,  as  with  an  effort,  he  rose,  shut  the  piano  mechanically,  and 
turned  to  face  the  empty  studio.  This  seemed  to  bring  him  to 
his  senses  somewhat. 

"It's  a  queer  world,"  he  said  to  himself. 

And  yet  he  seemed  irresolute.  Ho  took  up  a  wooden  pipe,  but 
almost  immediately  put  it  down  again ;  then  he  went  and  stood 
in  front  of  the  unfinished  landscape  that  was  on  the  easel.  It 
was  a  large  water-color  drawing:  an  evening  scene — the  spire  of 
a  village  church  rising  dark  into  the  golden  glow  of  the  sunset 
sky  ;  a  river  stealing  in  shadow  underneath  a  grove  of  dusky  elms; 
empty  meadows  with  a  pearly  gray  mist  rising  from  them.  It 
seemed  to  suggest  silence  and  remoteness,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  of 
sadness  too,  for  the  day  was  dying  away  in  the  west,  and  the  vel- 


22  SAniNA    ZEMERA. 

vet-footed  night  coming  stealthily  over  the  land.  But  what  a  time 
and  a  place  for  lovers!  There  were  no  figures  in  this  landscape; 
he  had  intentionally  left  it  without  any  sign  of  life ;  it  seemed 
secret  and  sacred  at  this  sad  hour ;  there  was  not  even  a  swallow 
skimming  over  that  still-flowing  stream.  But  what,  now,  if  some 
veiled  and  hooded  maiden  were  to  appear  out  of  that  golden  glow 
beyond,  and  come  swiftly  with  timid  footstep  along  by  the  hushed 
meadows  and  the  whispering  reeds?  Could  the  gracious  heavens 
be  so  bountiful,  on  some  such  evening  as  this — in  the  coming 
years — and  she,  the  one  maiden  in  all  the  world,  be  actually  there, 
and  he  hastening  towards  her  with  wildly  beating  heart?  Easily 
could  he  recognize  her  figure  far  away ;  there  was  but  the  one. 
And  then  the  untying  of  the  hood,  and  the  beautiful  tender  eyes 
benignant — Subina — 

"If  I  were  on  my  death-bed,"  he  said  to  himself,  "the  image 
of  that  woman  would  come  between  me  and  my  grave." 

But  what  had  Sabina  done  that  he  should  be  angry  with  her? 
If  he  chose  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  about  a  woman  (he  said  to 
himself),  that  was  none  of  her  fault.  And  so,  as  the  afternoon 
was  dreary  and  uncomfortable,  and  not  conducive  to  work,  and 
the  studio  very  silent  and  lonely,  and  the  associations  of  this  pict- 
ure rather  melancholy,  he  thought  he  would  go  away  and  seek  for 
some  society  somewhere.  And  whose?  Why,  Janie  Wygram's, 
to  be  sure — if  haply  he  might  find  her  at  home.  If  not  the  rose, 
she  was  near  the  rose ;  and  she  would  have  something  to  say  to 
him  about  Sabina. 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and  also  a  pair  of  gloves,  for 
artists  have  abandoned  their  Bohemian  manners  and  customs 
nowadays,  and  he  was  about  to  pay  an  afternoon  call.  And  as  he 
walked  away  over  Camden  Hill  Road,  and  so  down  into  Kensing- 
ton, how  was  it  that  his  eye  instinctively  sought  out  any  tall 
woman  that  he  could  see  in  the  distance?  It  was  very  unlikely 
that  accident  should  bring  Sabina  in  his  way;  and  yet  the  remote 
possibility  was  always  there,  and  it  lent  an  interest  to  all  the 
neighborhood  of  Kensington,  and  it  had  become  an  unconscious 
habit  with  him  to  look  far  ahead  with  this  half-defined  hope  al- 
ways present  with  him.  And  then,  again,  where  the  High  Street 
narrows  there  is  an  abundance  of  shops,  and  there  mammas  and 
daughters  congregate,  passing  by  the  windows  slowly ;  and  if  by 
chance  he  were  to  find  Sabina  in  that  throng!    In  especial  there 


WALTER    LINDSAY,  23 

•was  a  florist's  shop  that  was  of  interest  to  him  ;  for  Sabina,  when 
she  came  round  that  way,  generally  called  there  to  carry  home 
some  flowers  for  Mrs.  Wygram,  who  herself  could  not  well  afford 
such  luxuries.  However,  on  this  particular  afternoon,  as  on  many 
and  many  another  one,  his  half-intentional  scrutiny  was  fruitless, 
and  so  he  turned  down  Young  Street,  and  made  for  the  Wygrams' 
house  in  Kensington  Square. 

Janie  was  up-stairs  in  her  mother's  room ;  she  saw  him  come 
along  the  pavement. 

"  There's  Mr.  Lindsay,  mother." 

"You  must  go  down,  then,  and  make  some  excuse.  I  can't 
see  him  in  this  state ;  besides,  I'm  busy." 

"  Oh,  I  can  entertain  him  well  enough,  mother,"  the  younger 
woman  said.     "You've  only  to  talk  to  him  about  Sabie." 

Of  course  it  was  not  Mr.  Lindsay  who  introduced  that  subject 
when  these  two  were  seated  in  the  dusky  drawing-room — oh  no ! 
Mr.  Lindsay  talked  about  theatres  and  new  books -and  music; 
and  when  Miss  Wygram  incidentally  mentioned  that  Sabie  was 
spending  that  afternoon  with  her  people  at  Lancaster  Gate,  he 
did  not  say  anything  at  all.  Nay,  when  Miss  Wygram,  who  was 
a  kind-hearted  creature,  would  insist  on  talking  about  Sabie,  and 
the  good  she  was  doing,  and  her  kindness,  and  her  gentleness, 
and  her  courage,  and  all  the  rest,  he  listened  respectfully,  it  is 
true,  but  did  not  betray  much  interest. 

"  Of  course  she  has  her  faults,"  said  Janie. 

"Oh,  indeed  1"  said  he,  thinking  himself  very  cunning.  "  Well, 
now,  it  would  be  something  to  hear  of  them.  As  every  one  has 
nothing  but  praises  for  Miss  Zembra,  it  would  be  quite  refreshing 
to  hear  unkind  things  said  of  her." 

Janie  winced.  That  she  should  be  thought  capable,  even  in 
jest,  of  saying  unkind  things  of  her  dearest !  Nevertheless,  she 
continued : 

"Oh  yes,  she  has  faults,  and  plenty,"  she  said,  cheerfully. 
"  How  could  one  love  her  if  she  were  perfect  ?  Faults — oh  yes. 
For  one  thing,  she  is  a  little  too  anxious  to  have  every  one  fond 
of  her.  She  can't  bear  that  any  one  should  be  quite  indifferent 
about  her.  She  likes  to  be  well  thought  of.  I  don't  know  that 
it  is  exactly  vanity — for  it  is  not  her  appearance  she  thinks  of — 
it's  herself  that  she  wants  people  to  like ;  and  more  than  that, 
she  insists  on  it.     If  an  ill-conditioned  brat  of  a  boy  will  have 


24  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

nothing  to  say  to  her,  you  will  see  her  deliberately  neglect  tho 
whole  of  the  family  until  she  has  won  him  over  in  spite  of  him- 
self. Or  an  old  woman.  Old  women  are  sometimes  cynical. 
They  distrust  pretty  eyes.  Then  you  should  see  Sabie !  Oh, 
she  is  a  hypocrite — an  out-and-out  hypocrite !  But  that  is  the 
one  thing  she  cannot  bear — that  anybody  should  be  quite  indif- 
ferent about  her," 

"So  far,"  said  he,  "Miss  Zembra's  faults  don't  seem  to  be  very 
serious.  Some  people  would  call  them  virtues.  I  don't  think  it 
is  much  against  a  woman — and  particularl}^  a  young  woman — 
that  she  should  wish  to  be  thought  well  of.  It  seems  to  me 
quite  natural.  And  as  for  wishing  people  to  be  fond  of  her, 
surely  that  is  natural  too.  The  strange  thing  to  me  is  that  she 
should  experience  any  difficulty." 

She  knew  he  would  come  to  Sable's  defence — knew  it  perfect- 
ly wlien  she  began,  and  she  thought  she  would  reward  him.  She 
had  observed  his  eyes  wandering  occasionally  towards  a  photo- 
graph that  stood  on  the  mantle-piece ;  she  went  and  fetched  that. 

"  This  is  the  last  that  has  been  done  of  Sabie ;  do  you  think 
it  like?" 

He  took  the  photograph  in  his  hand. 

"Like?"  he  said,  after  a  second.  "Why,  it's  herself  —  her 
very  self!  And  so  natural  and  simple  the  whole  thing — and  so 
good-natured  she  looks!" 

"  Would  you  care  to  have  it?"  she  said,  with  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence. She  meant  him  to  understand  that  she  could  have  as  many 
photographs  of  Sabie  as  she  chose. 

He  looked  up  quickly  and  eagerly. 

"  May  I  have  it  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  if  you  care  for  it,  I  have  plenty  of  others.  Only  a 
studio  is  such  a  public  place — people  come  strolling  in,  and  you 
would  have  to  explain  that  it  was  I  who  gave  it  you," 

"But  do  you  think  I  would  have  it  lying  about?  I  can  assure 
you  no.  If  I  may  have  it,  I  will  lock  it  away  as  my  greatest 
treasure," 

"Oh,  but  you  must  not  say  such  things,"  said  Miss  Janie, 
laughing.  "  And  about  the  studio,  Mr.  Lindsay — I  hope  you  did 
not  think  it  rude  of  us,  going  in  the  other  day." 

"It  was  the  most  awful  piece  of  bad  luck  that  ever  happened 
to  me  that  I  should  have  been  out,"  he  answered.     "And  Mrs. 


WALTER    LINDSAY.  25 

Summers  not  to  have  offered  you  tea!     She's  a  dreadfully  stupid 
woman,  that  woman." 

"  But  I  suppose  she  was  so  frightened  by  our  boldness,"  said 
Miss  Janie.  "  You  see,  it  was  such  a  temptation.  Sabie  had 
never  been  in  a  studio  before.  And  then  mother  happened  to  be 
with  us;  and  it  was  really  her  doing;  for  when  Mrs.  Summers 
said  you  were  not  at  home,  mother  said,  '  Oh,  that's  all  right ; 
we'll  go  and  rummage  over  the  place.'  And  Sabie  said,  '  Oh,  he's 
so  good-natured  he  won't  mind.'  And  you  should  have  seen  how 
interested  she  was — especially  in  the  embroidery  ;  and  she  won- 
dered who  could  have  taught  you  to  pick  up  such  things.  Yes, 
and  the  picture — you  should  have  heard  what  she  said — " 

"But  which  one?"  he  said,  quickly.    It  was  all  music  to  his  ears. 

"The  one  on  the  easel,  you  know — the  one  with  the  church 
and  the  trees  and  the  river — the  evening  one — " 

"Did  she  like  that?" 

"Oh  yes;  you  should  have  beard.  And  when  Sabie  likes  a 
thing  she  tells  you." 

"Miss  Wygram,  would  you  do  me  a  very,  very  great  favor?" 
said  he.     "  Do  you  think  you  could  get  her  to  accept  it  ?" 

"  What  ?" 

"That  picture.  Do  you  think  Miss  Zembra  would  take  it?  I 
should  be  so  glad  if  she  would.  It  is  a  fair  exchange — I  have 
her  portrait.  Do  you  think  she  would  take  that  drawing  if  I 
finished  it  and  had  it  framed  for  her?" 

"But  what  would  she  do  with  it?"  Miss  Janie  said.  She  was 
a  little  bit  frightened,  thinking  she  had  said  too  much ;  and  she 
knew  that  Mr.  Lindsay's  pictures  fetched  very  large  prices,  for 
water-colors. 

"  Why,  she  might  hang  it  up  in  her  room,  if  she  cared  any- 
thing for  it  at  all.  Or  over  there — she  might  hang  it  there — and 
it  would  be  hers  all  the  same.  Do  you  think  you  could  induce 
her  to  accept  it  if  it  was  framed  and  made  a  little  more  pre- 
sentable?" 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no,  Mr.  Lindsay  !"  Miss  Janie  said,  earnestly.  "  It's 
bad  enough  for  a  parcel  of  strangers  to  go  into  an  artist's 
studio — " 

"  Strangers  !"  said  he. 

"  But  to  plunder  him  as  well,  simply  because  you  happen  to  say 
you  like  a  particular  picture — " 
2 


26  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"  But  you  don't  know,"  lie  broke  in — "  wliy,  you  don't  know 
what  pleasure  it  would  give  me  if  Miss  Zeinbra  would  only  take 
that  picture.  It's  nothing;  it's  a  foolish  kind  of  thing.  But  if 
she  sees  anything  in  it — if  she  would  take  it — " 

"I'm  sure  she  would  not,"  said  Miss  Janie,  promptly,  "  and  I 
know  I  should  get  into  sad  trouble  if  she  discovered  tliat  I  was 
the  cause  of  your  making  so  generous  an  offer.  But — but — now, 
shall  I  be  frank  with  you  ?" 

"Yes;  but  be  frank  in  this  way:  I  will  give  you  the  picture, 
and  you  will  hang  it  up  in  her  room,"  said  he, 

"Oh  no;  how  could  that  be?  But — but — if  you  would  make 
a  small  sketch  of  it — something  that  would  not  cost  you  too 
much  trouble — I'm  sure  she  would  be  glad  to  have  that." 

"Are  you  sure  she  would  take  it?"  he  said,  eagerly. 

"  I'm  sure  she  would  be  very,  very  much  pleased  to  have  it," 
said  Miss  Janie,  frankly.  "But  you  see  how  it  is,  Mr.  Lindsay; 
it's  difficult  for  people  who  are  not  artists  to  accept  a  valuable 
picture.     It's  all  very  well  for  artists,  who  can  repay  in  kind." 

"Then  you  think  there  is  nothing  in  winning  approval — there 
is  nothing  in  being  able  to  gratify  a  friend?"  said  ]>e. 

"  Oh  yes ;  if  every  one  was  as  pretty  as  Sabie,  I  could  under- 
stand it,"  she  rejoined.     "  But  even  in  her  case — " 

And  then  he  grew  bold. 

"Now, I  am  going  to  tell  you  something,"  said  he,  "and  to  ask 
of  you  the  greatest  favor  I  ever  asked  of  anybody.  Have  you 
heard  of  Borella,  the  new  barytone?  No?  Well,  he  has  only 
sung  at  one  or  two  houses,  privately,  as  yet;  but  he  is  something 
wonderful,  I  assure  you  ;  the  quality  of  his  voice  is  perfectly  mar- 
vellous, and  the  skill  with  which  he  adapts  it  to  a  small  room  just  as 
marvellous  too.  Well,  he  is  coming  to  my  studio  Thursday,  next 
week,  in  the  evening  ;  and  there  will  be  a  few  young  people  there  ; 
and  there  will  be  a  little  music,  and  a  little  supper,  and  so  forth  ; 
and  I  was  wondering  if  your  mother  and  you  would  be  so  kind 
as  to  join  the  little  party.     You  see — " 

"  I  think  I  know,"  interposed  Miss  Janie,  with  a  smile ;  and 
although  she  was  not  pretty,  she  could  look  friendly  and  amiable 
on  occasion,  and  she  had  a  little  sympathy  with  this  unhappy 
young  man,  "  I  think  I  know.  You  would  like  mother  to  go  up 
in  the  afternoon,  and  have  a  little  chat  with  Mrs.  Summers  about 
the  supper,  and  the  arrangement  of  the  flowers,  and  so  forth?" 


WALTER    LINDSAY,  27 

"Would  she  be  so  kind  ?" 

"But  as  for  me,"  said  Miss  Janie,  demurely,  "  what  use  should 
I  be?     Well,  would  you  like  me  to  bring  Sabie  with  me?" 

He  lowered  his  eyes  to  hide  their  anxiety. 

"Do  you  think  Miss  Zembra  would  care  to  come  up  for  even 
half  an  hour?"  said  he.  "  Borella  is  a  very  good-natured  fellow; 
he  told  me  that  if  he  came  at  all  it  would  be  to  sing  for  my 
guests.  I  think  she  would  be  pleased.  I  am  sure  she  would  be 
pleased." 

"  But  that's  not  the  way  to  put  it  when  you're  talking  about 
Sabie,     The  question  is — Can  she  do  a  kindness  to  anybody  ?" 

"  I  should  consider  it  more  than  a  kindness,"  he  said,  in  rather 
a  low  voice. 

"  Oh,  I'll  bring  Sabie  along,"  Miss  Janie  said,  cheerfully. 

"Will  you?"  he  said.  He  looked  up.  "It  is  a  promise,' 
mind.  And  you  know.  Miss  Janie"  (for  he  permitted  himself 
this  familiarity  on  rare  occasions),  "I  am  going  to  insist  on  your 
taking  that  sunset  sketch  as  a  present  from  me.  Oh  yes,  you 
must.  When  I  have  offered  anybody  anything,  then  it  is  no 
longer  mine." 

"  But,  good  gracious,  Mr,  Lindsay,  what  should  I  do  with  such 
a  valuable  picture?"  said  Miss  Janie,  frightened  again, 

"  It  will  become  valuable  if  you  accept  it,"  said  he,  gently. 
"  And  there  is  the  very  place  to  hang  it,  over  there ;  and  if  Miss 
Zembra  would  care  to  have  a  little  replica  of  it,  I  should  be  very 
happy  to  do  that  for  her  at  any  time," 

He  rose  and  took  his  hat, 

"  I  will  send  your  mother  a  little  reminder  note  about  Thursday 
next  week,"  said  he.  "  And  I  hope  you  won't  forget  your  prom- 
ise about  Miss  Zembra." 

"  Oh,  I'll  bring  Sabie  along,"  was  the  confident  answer. 
"  Good-by," 

Dark  had  fallen  over  Kensington  now ;  but  for  him  the  gray 
melancholy  that  hung  about  the  dismal  streets  was  filled  with  all 
kinds  of  brilliant  and  happy  visions,  Sabina  was  coming  to  his 
little  party ;  and  now  the  question  was  as  to  what  he  could  do, 
and  plan,  and  contrive,  for  the  entertainment  of  this  radiant  vis- 
itor. Neither  Mrs.  Summers  nor  Mrs.  Wygram,  to  begin  with, 
was  to  be  intrusted  with  the  supper  arrangements ;  he  would  go 
forthwith  to  a  famous  confectioner  and  bid  him  do  his  best,  spar- 


28  SABIXA    ZEMBRA, 

infy  neither  cost  nor  trouble.  And  he  would  call  on  the  great 
barytone  and  make  sure  of  him.  Then,  whatever  Covent  Garden 
could  produce  in  the  way  of  flowers  would  make  that  one  nio-ht 
sweet  and  memorable;  with  this  proviso,  tiiat  while  the  florist 
migiit  exercise  his  fancy  as  he  pleased  with  regard  to  the  little 
bouquets  or  button-holes  placed  on  the  table  for  the  guests,  he — 
that  is  to  say,  the  host  himself — would  reserve  for  himself,  and 
for  himself  alone,  the  devising  of  the  bouquet  that  Sabina  would 
find  awaitino:  her ! 


CHAPTER    IV. 
FRED  FOSTER. 

An  angry  man,  indeed,  was  Sir  Anthony  Zembra,  when  he 
found  that  the  stranger  who  had  been  thus  unceremoniously 
thrust  into  his  house  promised  to  be  a  fixture  there,  at  least  for 
a  considerable  time.  And  naturally  he  was  impatient  to  know 
who  he  was;  but  he  would  not  ask  Sabina;  he  made  his  inqui- 
ries of  Dr.  Hungerford,  plainly  intimating  the  while  that  as  likely 
as  not  this  unwelcome  guest  was  a  common  swindler,  and  all  the 
fuss  about  the  hurt  knee  part  of  a  scheme  of  robbery. 

"He  would  be  an  enterprising  burglar  who  would  get  himself 
smashed  about  like  that  on  purpose,"  said  the  young  surgeon, 
laughing.  "  Anyhow,  Sir  Anthony,  it  will  be  many  a  day  before 
he  is  able  to  run  away  with  anything.  And  I  will  say  this  for 
him:  he  tries  to  make  as  light  of  his  injuries  as  may  be — espe- 
cially if  Miss  Zembra  is  within  hearing;  and  talks  quite  content- 
edly about  the  whole  affair.     He  has  pluck,  at  all  events — " 

"Yes, yes;  but — but — God  bless  my  soul,  I  want  to  know  who 
he  is!     Who  is  he?     What  is  he?"  Sir  Anthony  demanded. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  should  call  him,  speaking  generally,  a  sporting 
character,"  the  surgeon  answered.  "  At  least  I  can't  make  out 
that  he  has  any  occupation  besides  riding  steeple-chases,  backinc: 
horses,  playing  billiards,  and  so  forth.  But  his  interest  in  such 
matters  seems  to  be  of  an  all-round  character.  He  offered  to  lay 
me  6  to  4  on  Oxford  for  the  boat  race." 

"  Professional  conversation  !"  Sir  Anthony  said. 


FRED    FOSTER,  29 

"  My  fault,  at  all  events,"  the  young  surgeon  said,  promptly. 
"  Well,  it  is  neither  that  race  nor  any  other  that  he'll  be  present 
at  for  many  a  day  to  come,  poor  fellow  !" 

"What  I  want  to  know  is,"  observed  Sir  Anthony,  coldly, 
"  when  you  mean  to  remove  him  from  this  house.  I  don't  see 
that  we  are  responsible  for  the  accident  in  any  way  whatever; 
and,  really,  to  have  one's  domestic  arrangements  upset  in  this 
fashion,  on  behalf  of  a  stranger,  is  perfectly  absurd.  Common 
humanity?  Common  stupidity  !  When  is  this  gentleman  jock- 
ey, or  whatever  he  is — 'gentleman  jock'  is  the  phrase,  isn't  it? — 
when  is  he  going  to  clear  out  of  my  house?" 

"  Well,  now,  Sir  Anthony,"  the  surgeon  said,  "  I  would  beg  of 
you  not  to  hurry  his  removal.  I  would  rather  not  run  any  risk, 
unless  you  have  imperative  need  of  the  room.  I  dare  say  every- 
thing will  go  on  well ;  his  constitution  seems  to  be  a  sound  and 
healthy  one ;  and  as  soon  as  it  is  fairly  safe  we  will  have  him 
taken  away — but  not  to  his  own  rooms,  I  hope.  Bury  Street, 
St.  James's,  is  not  a  very  cheerful  place  for  a  man  who  will  have 
to  be  on  his  back  for  the  next  month  or  two.  I  don't  know 
what  his  means  are ;  but  if  he  could  afford  to  go  to  Brighton — 
if  he  were  to  get  a  front  room  on  the  King's  Road  or  the  Marine 
Parade,  that  would  be  more  lively  for  him.  And  then  on  a  fine 
day  he  might  be  wheeled  down  the  Pier  on  a  stretcher,  and  get 
the  sea  air  and  the  sunlight  into  his  blood." 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  feel  called  upon  to  concern  myself  about 
the  young  man,"  observed  Sir  Anthony,  in  his  lofty  manner,  "  al- 
though one  naturally  wishes  him  a  speedy  recovery.  In  the  mean 
time  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  the  use  and  freedom  of  my  own 
house  again  at  the  very  earliest  opportunity." 

Lady  Zembra,  for  her  part,  flatly  declined  to  allow  the  maid 
Catherine  to  be  forever  dancing  attendance  on  the  sick-room; 
and  as  Sabina  could  not  do  everything  herself — and  as,  moreover, 
she  could  not  wholly  neglect  certain  charges  of  hers  down  in  the 
Chelsea  district — she  got  in  a  trained  nurse  to  help  her,  defraying 
the  cost  out  of  her  own  pocket.  But  she  herself  spent  a  large 
portion  of  each  day  in  the  invalid's  chamber;  and  she  would 
bring  him  newspapers  and  illustrated  journals  and  books,  and 
would  sit  amiably  chatting  with  him  to  lighten  the  tedium  of 
this  enforced  confinement.  Fred  Foster,  it  must  be  confessed, 
was  not  much  of  a  reader;  when  he  had  glanced  at  the  latest 


30  SABINA.   ZEMBKA. 

betting  for  the  Lincolnshire  Handicap,  and  seen  how  Cherry 
Blossom  stood  for  the  Liverpool  Grand  National,  he  was  content 
to  put  the  evening  paper  aside,  and  would  rather  talk  to  Sabina, 
in  a  timid  and  respectful  and  grateful  way.  And  yet  he  spoke 
cheerfully,  too ;  for  he  would  not  have  her  think  he  was  fretting 
overmuch,  and  as  they  became  better  friends,  he  was  quite  frank- 
ly garrulous  about  himself  and  his  experiences  and  companions 
and  pursuits.  It  was  a  new  world,  this  that  was  being  opened 
to  her;  and  yet  it  was  interesting  in  a  fashion;  for  she  was  a 
friendly  and  sympathetic  kind  of  creature,  and  accustomed  to 
meeting  diverse  people,  who  all  had  their  own  way  of  life.  And 
there  was  a  sort  of  good-natured  cynicism  and  saturnine  honesty 
in  this  young  man's  talk  that  was  in  a  measure  attractive,  and 
he  seemed  to  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world  for  one  of  his 
years. 

But  it  was  when  he  told  her  all  about  his  home  in  Bucking- 
hamshire, and  the  old  people  there,  that  he  pleased  her  most.  It 
appeared  that  he  was  returning  from  a  visit  to  them  (having  sent 
on  his  portmanteau  by  rail)  when  he  met  with  the  smash  in  Bays- 
water  Road.  His  father,  he  told  her,  had,  a  good  many  years  ago, 
laid  out  his  last  penny  on  property  down  Amersham  and  Missen- 
den  way,  in  the  expectation  of  a  railway  being  made  along  the 
valley;  but  the  railway  never  came;  land  would  not  sell  at  all; 
farms  were  letting  badly  ;  and  times  were  not  as  they  used  to  be. 
Still,  that  seemed  a  comfortable  home  that  he  talked  about;  and 
Sabina,  sitting  in  this  silent  room,  and  listening  with  friendly  in- 
terest to  his  idle  discourse,  could  see  for  herself  the  big,  old-fash- 
ioned, red-brick  house  fronting  the  road;  a  row  of  tall  elms  out- 
side ;  inside  the  low,  wide  hall,  with  its  pillars;  rambling  corridors 
and  rooms  with  casemented  windows ;  a  spacious  garden  behind  ; 
and,  busy  in  the  vineries,  an  old  gentleman  in  velveteen  coat  and 
gaiters,  with  a  velvet  cap  and  tassel  on  his  head,  a  pair  of  shears 
in  his  hands,  and  not  far  away  from  him  a  long  clay  pipe. 

"  But  it's  the  Mater,"  he  would  say  (and  he  was  fond  of  re- 
turning to  this  point,  and  Sabina  liked  to  hear  him  speak  in  this 
fashion) — "it's  the  Mater  has  been  my  stand-by  through  thick 
and  thin ;  and  whatever  happens  to  me  I  know  I've  got  one 
friend.  Well,  you  see,  the  governor  has  been  rather  inclined  to 
cut  up  rough  with  me  from  time  to  time,  and  no  wonder,  for  I 
have  been  an  idle  wretch ;  I  mean,  the  only  things  I  can  do  well 


FRED    FOSTER.  31 

don't  seem  to  bring;  in  much  coin,  and  I  dare  say  I  have  been  a 
disappointment  to  him.  But  the  old  lady  is  my  stanch  friend 
through  everything.  And  mind,  I  don't  mean  only  in  the  way 
of  money.  No,  no.  You  see,  Miss  Zembra,  a  man  who  has  had 
a  little  experience  in  turf  affairs,  and  mixed  himself  up  in  that 
kind  of  life — well,  I  don't  suppose  that  he  can  have  the  highest 
notions  about  human  nature,  and  be  too  ready  to  believe  in  peo- 
ple; but  it's  a  very  capital  thing  for  him  if  he  knows  that  some- 
where or  other — no  matter  where,  but  somewhere — there  is  one 
human  being  that  is  just  as  good  as  gold.  I  suppose,  now,  at  my 
age,  my  one  perfect  human  being  should  be  a  young  woman,  not 
an  old  one  ;  a  divinity  and  angel  about  eighteen  or  twenty.  Well, 
I've  never  met  any  of  that  kind ;  I've  never  met  any  girl  even  fit 
to  be  compared  to  my  mother.  It  isn't  ribbons  and  scents,  and  a 
dog-cart  and  a  pair  of  ponies  driven  tandem,  for  her;  she  doesn't 
think  what  she  can  get  out  of  you ;  it's  what  she  can  do  for  you, 
that  she  thinks  of ;  she's  just  as  good  as  gold,  she  is." 

"And  I  hope  and  am  sure  you  will  always  think  so,"  Sabina 
said.     "But  why  should  you  have  disappointed  your  father?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  my  wares  don't  fetch  a  big  price  in  the  world's 
market,"  said  he,  and  there  was  an  odd  kind  of  simplicity  in  his 
self-disparagement.  "What  am  I  to  do  ?  I  can  ride  a  horse; 
and  I've  even  been  complimented  at  times  for  a  niceish  bit  of 
mouth-touching.  And  I  play  a  fair  game  at  billiards.  And  I'd 
back  myself  at  a  pigeon-match  even  against  the  Claimant,  and 
that  is  saying  something — " 

"Pigeon-shooting?"  she  said;  there  was  the  least  trace  of  sur- 
pi'ise  in  her  tone;  and  that  of  itself  was  a  compliment. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  shouldn't  have  mentioned  that,"  he 
said,  laughing  a  little.  "  Sentiment  has  changed.  But  don't 
you  believe  the  nonsense  that  is  talked  about  pigeon-shooting, 
either.  Miss  Zembra.  It  used  to  be  the  most  fashionable  thing 
going;  it  isn't  now;  and  why?  Because  it's  easy?  Because  it's 
merely  slaughter?  Not  a  bit;  it's  because  it's  too  difficult — and 
a  score  is  kept.  If  you  put  a  man  into  a  hot  corner  at  a  pheas- 
ant-shoot and  let  him  blaze  away,  he'll  make  a  bag  somehow,  and 
nobody  counts  the  misses;  it's  different  in  an  open  field,  with  a 
crowd  of  fashionable  people  looking  on,  and  the  reporters  with 
their  note -books  just  behind  you.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the 
Lords  and  Commons   pigeon -shooting  match   at  Hurlingham  ? 


32  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

No;  before  your  time,  I  suppose.  And  before  mine,  too,  rather; 
but  I've  seen  the  score ;  and  if  you  look  at  that  score  you'll  find 
how  it  was  that  pigeon-shooting  ceased  to  be  fashionable.  Peo- 
ple always  turn  their  backs  on  what  they  can't  do.  You  don't 
like  to  have  all  your  lady -friends  looking  on  while  you  show 
what  a  duffer  you  are;  and  you  don't  want  to  have  the  score  in 
the  newspapers  next  day.  Then  don't  you  believe  the  stories 
about  the  maiming  of  the  pigeons  either ;  that's  all  newspaper 
nonsense.  Do  you  think  they'd  get  a  single  man  to  lay  a  sover- 
eign if  anything  like  that  were  allowed  ?  No,  no  ;  and  of  course 
the  betting  men  back  the  pigeon ;  they  know  he'll  play  fair;  they 
may  not  be  sure  about  the  noble  sportsman,  but  they  know  the 
bird  will  try  to  get  away  if  he  can.  You  can't  '  pull '  a  pigeon." 
However,  he  saw  by  the  expression  of  her  face — and  the  hazel 
eyes  were  easy  to  read — that  this  was  not  a  wholly  grateful  sub- 
ject, and  he  got  away  from  it.  She  was  far  more  pleased  by 
his  descriptions  of  the  morning  gallops,  before  breakfast,  on 
Epsom  Downs  ;  and  he  spoke  rather  wistfully  about  them  ;  and 
she  thought  it  a  pitiable  thing  that  he  should  be  lying  here,  help- 
less. But  whether  he  spoke  wistfully  or  cheerfully,  all  the  way 
througb  these  chance  conversations  there  ran  an  innocent  assump- 
tion that  she  must  be  interested;  and  she  did  become  interested, 
without  hardly  knowing  why.  For  one  thing,  he  talked  about 
horses  with  a  genuine  enthusiasm ;  and  she  grew  to  sympathize 
in  his  admiration  of  skilful  riding;  and  could  almost  understand 
how  Jem  Robinson  burst  into  tears  of  vexation  when  he  found 
he  had  been  tricked  by  the  lad  Twitchet ;  and  she  was  sorry  for 
Fordham  when  she  was  told  how  Sam  Rogers  had  served  him  the 
same  turn.  It  was  a  new  world  to  her ;  and  there  were  plenty  of 
strange  characters  in  it,  and  striking  incidents,  and  moving  his- 
tories. She  grew  almost  familiar  with  its  physical  aspects;  when 
he  described  the  Grand  National  course,  she  had  to  construct  in 
her  imagination  the  successive  thorn  fences  and  hurdles  bushed 
with  gorse,  and  Beecher's  Brook,  and  Valentine's  Brook,  and  the 
Water  Jump,  and  then  again  the  hurdles  on  the  straight  way  for 
home.  Cherry  Blossom  was  now  at  11  to  2,  and  still  first  favor- 
ite; and  how  could  she  help  hoping  the  horse  would  win,  seeing 
that  this  young  man,  who  seemed  so  good-natured  and  cheerful 
and  patient  under  his  grievously  bad  luck,  was  so  obviously  anx- 
ious about  it? 


FEED    FOSTER.  33 

The  Duke  of  Exminster  called  on  Fred  Foster  to  see  how  he 
was  getting  on ;  and  very  sorry  was  that  young  gentleman  that 
Sabina  happened  to  be  out. 

"  Very  sorry,"  he  said  ;  "  I  should  like  you  to  have  met,  if  just 
for  once,  the  very  straightest  man  that  ever  had  anything  to  do 
with  the  English  turf — the  very  straightest,  and  all  his  life  through 
too.  I  wonder  who  ever  heard  of  him  'readying'  a  horse  and 
running  it  out  of  form  so  as  to  scoop  the  big  handicap  after- 
wards— " 

"But  is  it  so  unusual  to  find  an  honest  man  on  the  turf?"  Sa- 
bina asked. 

lie  did  not  answer ;  he  only  said,  evasively,  and  a  little  grimly, 

"  Horse-racing  is  a  great  game ;  and  it  has  got  to  be  played 
different  ways." 

Now,  as  has  already  been  said,  the  training  that  Sabina  had  vol- 
untarily undergone  had  taught  her  a  wide  catholicity  of  sympa- 
thy ;  and  she  had  long  ago  got  rid  of  any  Pharisaical  notion  that 
because  a  certain  way  of  life  is  right  for  this  or  that  person,  it  is 
necessarily  so  for  all.  This  kind  of  life  that  he  described,  if  it 
did  not  appear  to  be  informed  by  any  lofty  purpose,  or  to  be  ex- 
erting any  beneficial  influence  on  others,  was  nevertheless  appar- 
ently joyous  and  merry,  and  so  far  it  was  distinctly  well;  while  it 
was  certainly  not  one  whit  more  selfish  than  the  lives  of  the  vast 
majority  of  the  people — highly  respectable  and  praiseworthy  peo- 
ple— whom  she  saw  around  her.  Perhaps  there  was  a  trifle  too 
much  luncheon-basket  in  it;  and  there  was  a  pretty  continuous 
popping  of  champagne-bottles ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  that  was 
probably  the  handiest  way  of  celebrating  victories;  and,  for  the 
rest,  there  seemed  to  be  a  considerable  amount  of  good-comrade- 
ship and  generous  help  for  the  unfortunate  in  this  set  that  he  de- 
scribed. Nay,  when  she  began  and  told  him  a  little  of  how  she 
spent  her  own  time — what  her  occupations  were,  and  so  forth — 
he  said  he  was  quite  ashamed  of  himself ;  and  wondered  what  she 
would  think  of  him,  who  could  but  talk  of  horses  and  hounds, 
and  partridges  and  tennis-courts,  while  she  was  engaged  in  such 
unselfish  and  noble  work. 

"  But  then,"  said  he,  looking  at  her,  "  there  are  not  many  like 

you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  to  your  face,"  he  answered,  gently ;  and 
2* 


34  SABINA   ZEMBEA. 

then  an  unaccustomed  flush  mantled  in  tlie  pale  and  beautiful 
forehead ;  and  she  turned  quickly  aside  to  get  for  him  his  lemon- 
juice  and  soda-water,  which  was  the  beverage  allowed  him  at  this 
time. 

On  another  occasion  he  said, 

"  You  know  it's  awfully  good  of  you,  Miss  Zembra,  to  bother 
yourself  about  me,  and  to  come  and  chat  with  me  now  and  again, 
and  yon  so  busy.  But  I  have  remorse  of  conscience.  I  have  in- 
deed. I  really  must  ask  you  not  to  let  me  take  up  so  much  of 
your  time — there  are  so  many  others  who  have  better  claims." 

"  Perhaps  you  forget  how  you  came  to  be  here  at  all,"  said  Sa- 
bina. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  put  that  out  of  your  head,"  he  insisted. 
"You  were  in  no  way  responsible  for  the  accident.  Anybody's 
dog  would  have  brought  about  the  same  thing.  Or,  rather,  it  was 
ray  own  stupidity  that  did  it,  for  I  should  have  seen  the  little 
heap  of  gravel.  Or  rather — and  this  is  the  truth — it  was  a  piece 
of  pure  bad  luck.  I've  come  a  cropper  many  a  time  before;  but 
this  time,  by  pure  bad  luck,  I  chanced  to  hit  the  curb -stone. 
Well,  why  should  you  consider  yourself  responsible  for  that? 
However,  you  must  not  think  me  ungrateful  for  all  your  good- 
ness to  me ;  and  I  have  been  wondering  whether  you  wouldn't 
let  me  take  a  little  part  in  what  you  are  doing.  I  mean,"  he 
added,  with  a  touch  of  half-amused  embarrassment,  "you  might 
bring  me  luck — that  is,  supposing  Schiller  were  to  win  the  Ship- 
ley Hall  Handicap  on  Tuesday  next,  would  you  accept  a  ten-pound 
note  for  distribution  among  your  poor  people  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,  if  you  care  to  give  it  me,"  said  Miss  Zem- 
bra, promptly.  She  had  long  ago  ceased  to  be  squeamish  about 
such  matters. 

"  It's  rather  a  shabby  offer,  isn't  it,  to  make  it  conditional  ?"  he 
continued.  "  But  every  loose  farthing  I've  got  I've  put  on  that 
horse,  and  if  I  were  out  and  about  now  I'd  sell  my  boots,  I  be- 
lieve, and  clap  everything  on ;  for  it's  as  good  as  a  moral,  so  the 
duke  says.  And  then  there's  the  glory — you  see,  I  own  a  sixth 
share  in  this  horse — " 

Miss  Zembra  had  taken  up  the  evening  paper;  she  wanted  to 
know  something  about  the  animal  that  was  perhaps  to  win  ten 
pounds  for  her. 

"  The  Derby  Meeting,"  he  said.     "  The  Shipley  Hall  Handicap." 


FEED    FOSTER.  33 

"  Oh  yes,  here  it  is,"  she  said.  "  Schiller,  4  to  1  against.  That 
does  not  look  promising,  does  it?" 

"Promising  enough.  I  wish  it  was  20  to  1.  I  know  the  old 
horse  will  pull  it  off  for  us  this  time,  though  it  isn't  a  big  thing. 
"We  can't  all  be  dukes." 

"  But  with  regard  to  the  ten  pounds,  now,"  said  Sabina,  rather 
diffidently — "  I  am  afraid  I  accepted  heedlessly." 

"Oh,  a  bargain's  a  bargain,"  lie  said,  with  much  cheerfulness, 
"and  I  think  you'll  find  by  next  Tuesday  afternoon  that  Schiller 
has  landed  you  that  ten-pound  note  for  your  pensioners :  the 
money  might  go  a  worse  way." 

It  may  be  said  generally  that  he  bore  this  imprisonment  with 
really  remarkable  fortitude,  the  more  so  that  when  Sabina  was 
absent  the  other  members  of  the  household  did  nothing  at  all  to 
relieve  his  solitude.  Lady  Zembra  was  so  kind  as  to  make  inqui- 
ries about  him  from  day  to  day  of  the  nurse;  and  Sir  Anthony 
would  ask  an  occasional  question  of  the  doctor ;  but  it  was  very 
clear  that  their  solicitude  was  prompted  solely  by  their  desire  to 
know  when  he  was  going  away.  In  these  circumstances  Sabina 
did  what  she  could  to  keep  him  amused,  and  gave  him  as  much 
of  her  time  as  was  possible ;  and  in  tliis  way  she  came  to  know 
his  history,  even  from  his  boyhood's  days,  in  a  curiously  intimate 
fashion.  lie  liked  to  talk ;  he  was  grateful  to  so  gentle  and  con- 
siderate a  listener;  for,  indeed,  in  her  attitude  towards  him  there 
was  an  almost  maternal  kindliness  and  patience  and  sympathy. 
One  would  scarcely  have  remembered  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
was  a  couple  of  years  older  than  she  was.  lie  talked  to  her  as  if 
he  knew  she  would  pass  no  harsh  judgment  when  he  made  confes- 
sion ;  and  also  as  if  he  was  sure  beforehand  that  she  would  like 
well  enough  to  know  all  about  his  first  pistol,  and  his  adventures 
with  his  pony,  and  his  bird-stuffing,  and  his  various  scrapes  at 
school,  and  the  gradual  way  in  which  in  after-life  he  become  asso- 
ciated with  the  sporting  world.  She  got  to  understand  all  about 
his  somewhat  strained  relations  with  his  father,  his  dependence 
on  his  mother,  and  his  abundant  gratitude  towards  her;  his  gen- 
eral habits  of  life,  his  opinions  of  particular  men,  his  manner  of 
looking  at  the  tricks  of  fickle  Fortune.  Moreover,  through  all  this 
self-revelation  there  ran  a  vein  of  sarcasm  that  gave  it  piquancy. 
His  judgment  of  people  and  things  was  shrewd  and  sharp;  so  was 
his  judgment  of  himself;  and  there  was  a  kind  of  innocent  sat- 


36  SABIXA   ZEMBRA. 

urnine  honesty  about  him  that  amused  her  and  attracted  her  at 
the  same  time. 

"  If  I  had  broken  my  neck  that  time  I  pitched  on  the  pave- 
ment," he  said,  on  one  occasion,  "  I  suppose  I  should  have  had  to 
give  an  account  of  myself.  Well,  I  should  just  have  said  this: 
'  Lord,  there  are  some  would  tell  you  I  was  a  very  good  sort  of 
fellow,  but  I  know  I've  been  rather  a  bad  sort  of  fellow  ;  only,  I 
■was  just  what  you  made  me.'  " 

And  it  was  hardly  her  business  to  point  out  to  him  that  this 
theory  of  moral  responsibility — or  irresponsibility  —  was  of  a 
primitive  and  unworkable  character.  One  thing,  finally,  was  cer- 
tain, tliis  man  interested  her;  and  Jane  Wygrain  had  maintained 
that,  so  far,  Sabina  had  never  shown  herself  interested  (in  Janie's 
sense  of  the  phrase)  in  any  man. 


CHAPTER  V. 
SER  FEDERIGO'S  FALCON. 


Naturally,  Janie  Wygram  regarded  with  anything  but  favor 
the  young  man  who  was  thus  claiming  so  much  of  her  beloved 
Sable's  attention ;  and  her  jealousy  of  him  made  her  all  the 
more  determined  that  Sabina  should  go  to  Walter  Lindsay's 
pai'ty. 

"But  why  should  I  go?"  Sabina  said,  quite  good-naturedly. 
"  Some  people  are  interested  in  such  things,  but  I  am  not. 
Standing  about  among  a  lot  of  half-strangers,  and  trying  to  talk 
about  things  that  are  quite  indifferent  to  you — " 

"  Oh,  but,  Sabie,  you  don't  know,"  her  friend  said.  "  It's  not 
like  that  at  Mr.  Lindsay's.  They're  small  parties,  and  there's  no 
one  asked  wbo  isn't  either  clever,  or  pretty,  or  remarkable  in 
some  wav ;  and  there  is  every  kind  of  freedom  and  amusement 
and  merriment.  You  will  find  no  old  people  there  at  all,  except 
mother,  who  is  to  play  duenna  for  all  of  us." 

"No,  no,  Janie,"  Sabina  said.  "I  should  most  likely  be  tired 
by  that  time  of  night,  and  you  wouldn't  want  a  kill-joy  to  come 
in  among  a  lot  of  young  folks  amusing  themselves." 

"  But  you  can't  help  going,  Sabie  dear,"  her  friend  said,  in- 
sidiously. 


SEE   FEDERIGO'S    FALCON.  37 

"Indeed!     And  why  ?" 

"Not  when  I  tell  you  that  you  will  confer  a  great  kindness  on 
several  people,  and  on  two  in  particular.  That  is  enough  reason 
for  you,  Sabie." 

Sabina  laughed ;  it  was  a  dexterous  piece  of  flattery. 

"But  who  are  the  two  people  in  particular?"  she  asked. 

"  Mr.  Lindsay  is  the  one,  and  I  am  the  other." 

"  Then  I  will  go  to  please  you,"  Sabina  said,  in  her  frank  and 
generous  way ;  and  forthwith  the  glad-hearted  Janie  made  swift- 
ly for  her  own  room  to  send  a  little  note  to  Mr.  Lindsay,  inform- 
ing him  of  the  joyful  news. 

As  the  eventful  evening  drew  near,  the  little  Mrs.  Wygram  as- 
sumed a  more  and  more  important  air;  for  she  had  undertaken 
to  superintend  the  domestic  arrangements  for  the  young  artist; 
and  she  was  in  all  his  secrets,  and  very  earnest  were  their  confab- 
ulations together.  But  one  afternoon  she  came  home  looking 
rather  puzzled. 

"  Janie,"  she  said  to  her  daughter,  "  what  is  it  about  a  falcon  ?" 

"What  falcon,  mother?" 

"I  don't  understand  at  all;  but  twice  to-day  he  has  said  the 
same  thing.  You  see,  I  was  remonstrating  with  him  about  his 
extravagance — and  really  the  way  he  is  going  on  is  absurd.  Oh, 
I  assure  you  there  is  nothing  in  Covent  Garden  half  good  enough. 
I  believe  he  would  telegraph  to  the  Brazils  if  there  was  time  to 
get  back  the  things.  Well,  I  was  saying  how  absurd  it  was,  and 
that  people  did  not  expect  such  entertainments  at  a  bachelor's 
house ;  and  then  it  was  he  said,  '  I  wish  there  was  nothing  left 
but  my  falcon.'  And  then  again  he  said, '  But  when  is  the  falcon 
to  be  brought  in  ?'  And  when  I  asked  him  what  falcon,  he  only 
laughed  and  turned  to  something  else." 

"  Mother,"  cried  Janie,  "  don't  you  know  ?  Don't  you  know 
the  old  Italian  story  ?" 

The  mother  looked  as  puzzled  as  ever. 

"  Why,  it  has  been  told  a  hundred  times.  It  was  about  a 
young  gentleman  of  Florence  who  wasted  all  his  wealth  in  giving 
entertainments  to  please  his  lady-love ;  but  she  did  not  care  for 
him.  She  married  some  one  else ;  and  he  went  away  into  the 
country,  very  poor,  and  having  nothing  left  him  but  his  pet  fal- 
con. Then,  by-and-by,  she  became  a  widow,  and  she  was  living 
in   the  country  too ;   and   her  little   boy  fell   sick,  and   nothing 


38  SABIXA   ZEMBRA. 

■would  do  but  tliat  he  must  have  tlie  falcon  that  he  had  seen  fly- 
ing over  the  ncii;lil)oring  garden.  So  she  went  with  another  lady 
to  the  house,  and  there  was  her  former  lover,  and  he  was  greatly 
distressed  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  house  he  could  have 
cooked  for  them,  for  she  had  said  that  she  would  eat  something. 
Do  you  understand  now,  mother?  lie  bade  his  servant  go 
quickly  and  strangle  the  falcon — the  last  of,  all  his  possessions — 
and  that  was  cooked  and  brought  in  and  set  before  them.  And 
then,  of  course,  when  the  lady  made  her  request  about  the  falcon, 
he  had  to  confess  what  he  had  done  in  order  to  entertain  hev; 
and  she  was  so  much  struck  by  his  generosity  that  she  fell  in 
love  with  him  and  married  him.  Have  you  never  heard  the  story  ? 
The  young  gentleman's  name  was  Federigo,  and  the  lady's  Monna 
Giovanna.  And  you  may  be  sure  that  was  what  Mr.  Lindsay 
meant,  mother;  and  very  certain  I  am  that  he  would  be  content 
to  part  with  everything  he  has,  and  to  sacrifice  pet  falcon  and 
everything  else,  if  that  would  only  win  him  his  Monna  Gio- 
vanna." 

"And  who  may  she  be?"  the  mother  said,  demurely. 

"  Oh,  of  course  you  don't  know,  mother.  It  would  never  enter 
your  head — not  for  a  moment — that  it  was  our  Sabie  who  is  Mr. 
Lindsay's  Monna  Giovanna?" 

"  What  fools  men  are  !"  the  mother  sighed. 

"They  may  or  they  may  not  be;  I  don't  know,"  the  daughter 
said,  valiantly ;  "  but  I  do  know  that  if  I  were  a  man  I  should 
consider  myself  a  fool  if  I  were  not  in  love  with  Sabie." 

And  at  length  the  great  evening  arrived,  and  everything  had 
been  done  that  the  most  anxious  consideration  could  think  of; 
and  all  that  was  wanting  now  was  the  presence  of  Sabina  to 
irradiate  the  feast.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  and  Mrs.  Wygram 
and  Janie  came  rather  late.  All  the  others  had  assembled,  and 
were  idling  away  the  time  in  the  studio,  laughing  and  joking  and 
examining  the  sketches ;  but  Walter  Lindsay  was  in  front  of  the 
house  by  himself,  and  rather  nervously  waiting.  Then  there  was 
the  noise  of  a  cab,  the  gate-bell  was  rung,  and  the  next  moment 
he  was  outside  and  down  through  the  little  garden  just  in  time 
to  receive  them.  This  was  rather  a  dusky  thoroughfare,  and  the 
yellow  gas-lamps  gave  but  little  relief;  but  it  seemed  to  him  that 
when  Sabina  stepped  out  on  to  the  pavement — so  tall  and  queenly 
she  was,  and  yet  with  such  a  frank  and  generous  good-nature  in 


SEE   FEDERIGO'S   FALCON.  39 

her  face — that  there  was  some  kind  of  moonlight  around.  He 
bad  eyes  only  for  her ;  he  was  a  little  bewildered ;  she  seemed 
something  radiant — here  in  the  dusk. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  come,"  he  said ;  but  he  did  not 
know  what  he  was  saying. 

lie  accompanied  them  into  the  house:  could  this  beautiful 
creature  know  how  great  a  favor  she  was  conferring  by  merely 
stepping  within  the  door?  And  she  smiled  so  graciously  on  the 
little  maid  who  asked  them  to  go  into  the  improvised  cloak-room  : 
did  she  know  that  that,  too,  was  a  kindness? — that  she  could  so 
easily  make  friends  with  her  winning  looks  and  her  gentle  man- 
ner? But  at  this  moment  Janie  Wygram  hung  back  from  her 
companions,  and  said  to  him,  in  a  half-whisper, 

"  Is  the  falcon  being  cooked  ?" 

"  There  is  no  such  luck  for  me,"  said  he  ;  and  then  he  added, 
quickly,  "But  do  you  think,  now,  that  Miss  Zembra  could  be 
prevailed  upon  to  take  away  some  little  thing  as  a  souvenir? 
There  are  all  kinds  of  things  in  this  studio.  If  you  found  her 
interested  in  any  of  them  could  you  give  me  a  hint?  Anything, 
no  matter  what — anything  in  the  house." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Janie ;  but  she  could  not  add  an- 
other word  then,  for  she  had  to  follow  her  companions  into  the 
cloak-room. 

Forthwith  he  sent  word  to  have  supper  served  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible ;  and  when  these  new  guests  reappeared  he  would  have  them 
remain  in  the  drawing-room.  He  seemed  to  forget  the  others 
whom  he  had  left  in  the  studio.  It  was  Sabina  whom  he  wanted 
to  look  at  these  sketches  and  medallions  and  miniatures  and 
what  not;  and  so  anxious  was  he  to  interest  her,  and  so  strangely 
did  the  magic  of  her  presence  affect  him,  that  his  fingers  were 
not  so  steady  as  they  might  have  been. 

"  Why,  your  hand  shakes,"  she  said  (for  she  was  rather  blunt- 
spoken  on  occasion).  "What  is  it?  Too  much  Arts  Club  at 
midnight?" 

It  was  a  cruel  speech,  though  it  was  not  meant  cruelly.  How 
could  he  explain  to  her  what  it  was  that  made  his  hand  a  trifle 
unsteady?  Or  how  could  he  say  to  her  that  he  would  willingly 
never  enter  within  the  doors  of  the  Arts  Club  again  if  she  but 
expressed  the  slightest  wish  on  the  subject? 

"But  your   other  friends,  Mr.  Lindsay?"  said   Mrs.  Wygram, 


40  SABINA    ZEMBRA, 

•who  considered  herself  responsible  for  the  proper  conduct  of  the 
proceedings.     "  Should  we  not  go  into  the  studio  ?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  he.  "They're  all  right.  Borella  is  there;  he 
will  keep  them  lively  enough."  In  fact,  they  could  hear  the 
sound  of  a  piano  in  the  distance.  "That  is  another  thing  I 
wanted  to  warn  you  about.  Miss  Janie.  Don't  you  keep  insisting 
on  encores.  Borella  is  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  but  he  is 
rather  noisy,  and  he  likes  to  monopolize  the  piano.  Now,  when 
he  wants  to  go,  let  him  go,  and  then  we  shall  have  a  nice  quiet 
evening  by  ourselves." 

Of  course,  Miss  Janie  knew  very  well  it  was  about  Sabina  he 
was  thinking ;  perhaps  she  might  not  like  too  hilarious  an  even- 
ing ;  for  there  was  something  grave  and  serious  in  her  manner, 
even  with  all  its  gracious  sweetness. 

Then  came  the  butler  (he  was  a  butler  only  at  night ;  by  day 
he  was  an  old-man  model,  and  favorably  known  throughout  the 
studios  for  his  prominent  nose  and  shaggy  eyebrows;  it  should 
be  said,  moreover,  that  his  ability  in  both  capacities  was  marked, 
and  that  he  could  decant  a  bottle  of  port  just  as  well  as  he  could 
pose  as  an  ancient  Highland  cateran,  or  a  scowling  miser,  or  a 
smiling  grandpapa)  to  say  that  supper  was  served ;  and  Mr.  Lind- 
say escorted  these  three  guests  into  the  dining-room  I  It  was  a 
clever  little  scheme. 

"  Miss  Zembra,"  said  he,  "  will  you  take  this  seat,  if  you  please? 
Mrs.  Wygram  has  been  so  kind  as  to  offer  to  take  the  other  end 
of  the  table — she  can  see  that  things  are  going  on  rightly — and 
— and  the  servants  understand — " 

It  was  a  clever  little  scheme ;  for  now,  without  fear  of  any  mis- 
take. Miss  Zembra  would  be  seated  next  him,  and  on  his  right 
hand  also ;  and  there  awaiting  her  was  the  bouquet  he  liad  him- 
self designed  for  her;  while  Mrs.  Wygram,  instead  of  being  an- 
noyed at  not  finding  herself  in  the  place  of  honor,  considered 
herself  promoted  to  the  position  of  mistress  of  the  feast.  Janie 
Wygram  smiled  to  herself,  but  said  nothing ;  and  with  a  light 
heart  Walter  Lindsay  went  away  to  summon  his  other  guests  from 
the  studio. 

It  was  a  pretty  scene  at  that  supper-table  when  they  had  all 
come  in  and  taken  their  places — the  shining  silver  and  the  Vene- 
tian glass ;  the  shaded  candles  shedding  a  soft  roseate  glow  on 
the  cover ;  the  abundant  flowers ;  the  baskets  of  fruit ;  the  faces 


SER   FEDEKIGO'S    FALCON.  41 

of  the  young  men  and  maidens  growing  blither  as  the  talk  became 
more  and  more  animated.  And  if  there  was  a  trifle  too  much 
noise  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  black-a-vised  barytone — who 
was  telling  very,  very  old  stories  in  half-intelligible  English,  and 
laughing  boisterously  at  the  same — well,  that  was  all  the  more 
convenient  for  any  of  the  quieter  folk,  who  perhaps  had  their  own 
little  sentences  (timid  and  hesitating,  and  hardly  daring  to  say  all 
that  might  be  said)  to  communicate  to  each  other  in  their  small, 
separate  sets.  Walter  Lindsay  was  not  sorry  to  be  able  to  mur- 
mur a  word  or  two  unheard  by  the  general  crowd,  even  if  there 
was  no  particular  secret  to  be  conveyed;  it  was  something  that  he 
could  speak  to  Sabina,  as  it  were,  alone.  And  then  she  was  look- 
ing so  beautiful  this  evening — so  calm  and  bland  and  compla- 
cent; and  the  gracious  outline  of  her  neck,  as  she  bent  forward  a 
little  to  listen,  was  something  to  steal  one's  heart  away.  Her  step- 
mother had  said  she  was  a  dowdy  in  her  dress.  Well,  on  ordinary 
busy  days  she  generally  wore  a  tight-fitting  gown  of  brownish- 
gray  homespun,  with  a  jacket  to  match ;  and  her  brown  felt  bon- 
net was  serviceable  enough ;  and  if  you  had  met  her  in  Kensing- 
ton High  Street,  or  in  Cromwell  Road,  you  would  have  thought 
little  of  the  CQstume,  though  perhaps  her  stature  and  her  gait,  and 
the  set  of  her  head,  might  have  attracted  a  brief  notice.  But  to- 
night there  was  naturally  something  different.  She  wore  a  dress  of 
pale-blue  Indian  silk,  with  a  fichu  of  faintly  yellow  lace  coming 
round  the  neck  and  bosom  ;  and  for  sole  ornament,  where  the.  fichu 
met  the  gown,  there  was  a  bunch  of  real  forget-me-nots.  Walter 
Lindsay  looked  at  these  from  time  to  time.  What  falcon  would 
he  not  have  sacrificed  to  gain  possession  of  any  one  of  them  ? 

And  yet  he  had  a  little  score  to  settle  with  her.  If  any  other 
person  had  told  him  that  he  had  a  shaky  hand,  he  would  not  have 
heeded  much  ;  besides,  such  was  not  the  case,  for  although  he  had 
the  artist's  temperament,  and  was  exceedingly  sensitive  in  many 
ways,  his  nerves  were  as  sound  as  a  bell.  But  that  Sabina  should 
have  taunted  him  was  too  bad :  and  her  reference  to  the  Arts  Club ! 

"  Miss  Zembra,"  he  made  bold  to  say  (but  still  in  that  under- 
tone that  he  seemed  to  prefer),  "  what  did  you  mean  by  saying 
that  my  hand  shook  ?" 

"  Did  I?"  she  said,  and  she  looked  up.  And  then  something  in 
his  manner  appeared  to  amuse  her.  "  If  I  hurt  your  feelings  I  am 
very  sorry." 


42  SABIXA   ZEMBRA, 

"What  do  you  mean  by  too  much  Arts  Club  at  midnight?" 
said  he,  for  he  was  determined  to  clear  himself  of  the  charge, 

"  I  am  a  hospital  nurse  on  occasion,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  I  sup- 
pose I  spoke  professionally.  But  really  I  did  not  mean  anything 
serious,  Mr.  Litidsay — oh,  of  course  not." 

■  "  Oh,  but  I'm  going  to  have  it  out  with  you,"  said  he.    "I  want 
just  to  see  whether  you  or  I  have  the  steadier  hand — " 

"  No,  no  ;  if  I  apologize  to  you — " 

"But  I  want  to  see.  Now,  just  you  lift  your  wineglass,  and  I 
will  hold  up  mine,  and  we  will  see  who  can  let  them  come  closest 
without  actually  touching." 

Well,  she  was  good-natured ;  they  went  through  that  little  per- 
formance ;  and  certainly  both  their  hands  now  seemed  steady 
enough. 

"  Can  I  do  more  than  apologize  ?"  she  said,  as  she  put  down 
her  glass  again.    "  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you." 

"Offend  me!"    He  looked  at  her;  that  was  all. 

Meanwhile,  the  robust  barytone  had  chanced  to  catch  sight  of 
that  raising  of  glasses,  and  imagining  that  it  was  merely  the  re- 
vival of  an  old  custom,  he  set  to  work  at  his  end  of  the  table,  and 
presently  there  was  a  good  deal  of  drinking  of  healths  and  clink- 
ing of  glasses,  with  even  an  occasional  "  Stosst  an  / — setzt  an  ! — 
fertig ! — los !"  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  hubbub  of  chatter 
and  merriment  that  Mrs.  Wygram  found  an  opportunity  of  say- 
ing to  her  daughter,  who  happened  to  sit  next  her, 

"  Janie,  don't  look  up  the  table,  but  do  you  know  what  is 
going  on  ?  I  can  tell  you.  Are  you  aware  that  your  darling 
Sabina  is  showing  herself  as  nothing  else  than  an  outrageous 
flirt?" 

"She  is  not,  mother?"  Janie  said,  indignantly.  "She  doesn't 
know  what  flirtation  is!" 

"  It's  a  remarkably  good  imitation  of  it,  then,  that  is  going  on 
up  there,"  said  the  little  old  lady,  still  with  her  eyes  cast  down. 
"I've  never  seen  anything  worse  anywhere.  Why,  Mr.  Lindsay 
has  not  said  a  word  to  a  soul  since  we  sat  down  to  supper;  he 
has  eyes  and  ears  for  nobody  but  her !" 

"And  whose  fault  is  that?"  said  Janie;  "that  is  his  fault,  not 
hers.  Of  course,  she  is  kind  to  him,  as  she  would  be  to  any  one 
sitting  in  his  place.  It's  little  you  know  about  Sabie  if  you  think 
that  of  her." 


SEE  FEDERIGO'S   FALCON".  43 

"  I  can  use  ray  eyes,"  said  Mrs.  Wygrara,  "  and  they're  older 
than  yours,  my  girl." 

"You  know  you're  only  saying  that  to  vex  me,  mother;  and 
you  can't  do  it.  No,  you  can't;  I  know  Sabie  better  than 
that." 

"At  all  events,"  the  mother  said,  to  close  this  underhand  dis- 
cussion— "  at  all  events,  Mr.  Lindsay  is  having  one  happy  even- 
ing in  his  life." 

Nor  was  Mrs.  Wygrara  the  only  one  who  was  casually  observant 
of  what  was  going  on  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table.  A  tall, 
rather  good-looking  fellow — a  recently  elected  Associate  he  was, 
and  very  proud  of  his  new  honors — said  to  his  neighbor,  who 
was  a  lively  little  maiden  with  a  roseate  face,  a  piquant  nose,  and 
raven-black  hair, 

"  Who  is  the  lady  of  the  forget-rae-nots  ?" 

She  glanced  up  the  table. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  That  is  Miss  Zembra — a  daughter  of 
Sir  Anthony  Zembra  —  the  Parliament  man,  don't  you  know? 
Pretty,  isn't  she  ?" 

"  How  long  have  Walter  Lindsay  and  she  known  each  other  ?" 
he  asked.     There  was  some  kind  of  significance  in  his  tone. 

"I  think  for  some  time,"  said  his  companion.  "But  I  believe 
she  has  never  been  in  his  house  before.  She  doesn't  care  for 
such  things — nursing  babies  and  old  women  is  more  in  her  line. 
It's  all  very  well,  if  they  would  only  wash  their  faces." 

"Oh,  they've  known  each  other  for  some  time?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"Oh,  they've  known  each  other  for  some  time?" 

What  did  he  mean  by  this  repetition  ?  What  he  was  trying 
to  do,  at  all  events,  was  to  get  his  companion  to  raise  her  eyes  to 
his,  to  ask  what  his  meaning  was;  but  she  was  a  shrewd  little 
lass,  and  knew  better  than  to  be  drawn  into  any  such  under- 
standing. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it's  none  of  my  business,"  he  said,  finally ; 
and  that  was  a  very  sensible  conclusion. 

And  now  did  Walter  Lindsay  call  down  the  blessings  of 
Heaven  on  Borella's  wildly  matted  head ;  for  the  noisy  barytone 
had  taken  to  performing  conjuring  tricks,  and  the  attention  of 
every  one  at  the  table  was  directed  towards  hiin.  And  Sabina 
wished  to  look  on  also,  for  she  loved  anmsement  as  well  as  any 


44  SABINA   ZEMIiKA, 

one,  when  the  chance  was  there ;  but  her  companion  would  not 
let  her.  lie  was  sure  she  had  had  no  supper  at  all.  A  little 
more  wine,  then?  for  she  seemed  to  like  the  perfume  of  that 
golden-clear  vino  di  Capri.  He  was  so  sorry  she  had  had  no  sup- 
per. It  was  a  shame  that  slie  had  come  to  his  house  merely  to 
be  starved  ;  perhaps  she  would  never  come  ao;ain,  after  such  treat- 
ment? Some  fruit,  then,  just  to  show  that  she  had  not  been 
quite  neglected?  Not  a  slice  of  pineapple,  nor  half  a  dozen 
grapes,  even?     Some  strawberries,  then? 

"Grapes  and  strawberries  in  the  middle  of  March?"  she  said, 
with  a  smile.     "  Really,  it  is  perfectly  wicked." 

And  then  there  was  on  his  lips  some  wild  reference  to  Ser 
Federigo's  envied  happiness  in  the  destruction  of  his  falcon  ;  but 
fortunately  he  did  not  go  so  far;  he  contented  himself  with 
engrossing  her  attention  so  that  she  could  not  see  any  of  the 
conjuring;  and  he  would  have  her  tell  him  more  of  her  experi- 
ences among  the  mudlarks  down  Lambeth  way.  Were  they  all 
so  cynical  ?  And  not  so  grateful  to  her  as  they  might  be?  Was 
she  not  afraid  of  having  her  pocket  picked?  And  that  one  of 
them  who  was  her  champion  and  chief  confidant — could  he  be 
found  out  now  by  a  stranger?  AVould  he  like  to  have  a  good, 
substantial,  mid-day  dinner  given  him,  and  thereafter  a  boat,  that 
he  might  sail  on  the  ponds  in  Battersea  Park,  supposing  that 
such  amusement  were  permitted? 

Well,  Sabina  had  a  generous  faculty  of  being  pleased  with 
whomsoever  was  talking  to  her  for  the  moment;  and  he  was  her 
host,  moreover ;  and  all  the  others  were  occupied  with  their  own 
affairs  ;  so  she  had  leisure  to  tell  him  about  these  and  other  things. 
And  ever  the  glamour  of  her  clear,  soft  hazel  eyes  was  working 
him  further  and  further  woe.  Her  rounded,  white  arms  were 
near  him  ;  the  dimple  in  her  cheek  showed  when  she  laughed ; 
her  beautiful  brown  hair  was  still  more  beautiful  in  the  softened 
light.  But  these  things  were  as  nothing.  It  was  her  eyes  he 
sought,  and  these  were  so  friendly  and  pleased  and  benignant, 
that  who  would  have  accused  them  of  working  him  woe?  Nor 
did  he  care.  He  drank  the  sweet  madness,  the  fell  poison,  with- 
out stint,  and  recklessly  and  joyously ;  this  night  was  to  be  at 
least  one  happy  night  in  his  life;  he  had  Sabie  all  to  himself,  and 
he  was  drinking  in  her  pleased  glances  and  her  smiles  as  if  they 
were  strong  wine:  the  years  to  come,  whatever  there  might  be 


SER   FEDEEIGO'S    FALCON'.  45 

in  them,  could  never  deprive  bim  of  that  gold  and  rose-tinted 
memory. 

At  length  the  conjuring  came  to  an  end  ;  and  it  was  Herr  Bo- 
relia  himself  who  suggested  that  they  should  go  away  into  the 
studio  to  have  a  little  music ;  he  had  to  leave  soon,  he  explained. 
And  then  there  was  a  fetching  of  wraps  for  the  women-folk;  and 
somehow  Walter  Lindsay  managed  to  secure  Sabina's  long  fur 
cloak;  and  be  it  was  who  put  it  round  her  shoulders,  and  would 
even  insist  that  it  was  properly  fastened  at  the  throat,  for  the 
night  was  cold.  When  they  went  outside  into  the  back  garden, 
at  the  farther  end  of  which  was  the  studio,  they  found  that  the 
night  skies  had  grown  clearer,  and  stars  were  shining  palely  over- 
head. Sabina  thought  of  the  dark  early  morning  in  East  London, 
and  of  her  crossing  from  the  nurse's  dormitory  to  the  wards:  she 
was  a  little  grave  as  the  ghost-like  procession  passed  along  from 
the  house  through  this  weird  gloom  to  the  yellow  light  of  the 
studio  door. 

All  within  there,  however,  was  brightness ;  the  gases  and  can- 
dles lit;  the  fire  burning  briskly  ;  the  piano  open  ;  plenty  of  mu- 
sic scattered  everywhere.  The  great  barytone  set  to  work  at 
once  ;  he  was  frank  enough.  He  sung  them  "  0  du,  mein  holder 
Abendstern,"  from  "  Tannhauser " — a  young  lady  in  spectacles 
accompanying  him  ;  and  then  he  himself  sat  down  at  the  piano 

and  sung, 

"  Fern  in  die  Welt, 
Weit,  weit  von  dlr, 
Strahlot  dein  Bild 
Tief,  tief  in  mir." 

One  would  scarcely  have  expected  a  man  who  had  been  so  bois- 
terous and  uproarious  at  supper  to  sing  with  so  much  feeling  ;  but 
the  quality  of  his  art  was  very  fine  indeed  ;  more  than  one  young 
woman  there  was  rather  liimpy  about  the  throat  when  he  finished. 
Then,  after  he  had  sung  one  or  two  more  things,  and  bade  such 
as  he  knew  good-night,  and  lighted  a  big  cigar  and  gone  away,  the 
young  folks  began  on  their  own  account;  and  as  there  happened 
to  be  lying  open  a  volume  of  old-fashioned  glees  and  madrigals 
and  duets,  they  were  soon  in  the  midst  of  these.  It  was  a  careless, 
happy-go-lucky  scries  of  performances;  when  they  broke  down 
they  turned  over  the  page  to  the  next  one ;  sometimes  a  new- 
comer would  stroll  along  and  give  them  a  helping  hand.     But  the 


46  SABIXA    ZEMBKA. 

young  lady  in  spectacles  knew  her  business,  at  all  events ;  and  so 
in  one  way  or  another  they  got  along,  with  laughter  and  jests 
thrown  in.  Now  it  was  "  Foresters,  sound  the  cheerful  horn,"  or 
"  The  chough  and  crow  to  roost  are  gone,"  or  "  Hark,  the  bonny 
Christ  Church  bells,"  or  "  Here's  a  health  to  all  good  lasses;"  and 
again  it  was,  "  Chloe  found  Amyntas  lying,"  or 

"  Sigh  no  more,  ladies ;  ladies,  sigh  no  more, 
Men  were  deceivers  ever." 

All  this  while  Walter  Lindsay  was  seated  on  a  sofa  with  Sa- 
bina  as  his  sole  companion.  On  coming  into  the  studio  he  had 
perforce  paid  a  little  attention  to  bis  other  guests ;  but  once  he  had 
got  them  fairly  started  on  this  occupation,  he  had  gone  back  to 
her — how  could  he  help  it  ?  And  Sabina  sat  and  listened,  her 
hands  folded,  her  eyes  pleased  ;  she  had  the  air  of  one  looking  on 
rather  than  of  one  participating;  but  surely  it  was  with  no  un- 
kindly regard. 

"  How  pretty  that  is !"  she  said,  rather  wistfully,  on  one  oc- 
casion. 

The  tall,  young  Associate  was  at  the  piano;  and  it  was  his 
neighbor  at  supper  who  had  now  taken  the  place  of  the  specta- 
cled young  lady,  and  he  was  bending  over  the  accompanist,  so 
that  their  heads  were  very  near  together — his  a  fair  chestnut 
brown,  hers  raven  black.  And  they  were  singing — with  a  careless 
bass  thrown  in  by  a  gentleman  standing  opposite  the  fire : 

"  Tell  me,  shepherds,  have  you  seen 
My  Flora  pass  this  way  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  pretty  air,"  Walter  Lindsay  said. 

"  Ah,  but  I  did  not  mean  that,"  Sabina  said,  in  her  low  voice. 
"  It  is  the  picture  that  looks  so  pretty — the  two  young  people  to- 
gether— and  singing — " 

And  why,  asked  Lindsay  of  himself,  should  she  look  and  speak 
so  wistfully  ?  Was  she  not  herself  young  and  more  beautiful 
than  any  ?  Was  she  to  be  forever  a  spectator  ?  Did  she  regard 
herself  as  one  cut  off  from  the  amusements,  the  associations,  the 
hopes  of  young  people?  And  where  was  the  need  of  any  such 
sacrifice  ? 

^^Tell  wie,"  warbled  the  young  lady  at  the  piano  ;  "TV//  mc/" 
roared  the  basso  at  the  fireplace ;  "  Shepherds,  have  you  seen  .^" 


SER    FEDERIGO'S    FALCON".  47 

strnclc  in  the  young  Associate,  who  had  a  very  fair  tenor  voice  ; 
but  Lindsay  did  not  heed  them  ;  he  was  thinking  of  Sabina,  and 
of  her  way  of  life,  and  of  her  future.  And  if  he  was  bold  enough 
to  consider  how  easy  it  would  be  for  her  to  give  him  one  of  those 
forget-me-nots?  Well,  if  that  wild  fancy  crossed  his  mind,  it  was 
but  for  a  moment.  He  was  far  away  from  that,  and  he  knew  it. 
But  why  should  he  fret  ?  Sabina  was  here,  and  by  his  side ;  and 
she  was  bland  and  smiling  and  kind,  and  ever  he  drank  fresh 
draughts  of  bewildering  gladness  and  madness  from  the  shining 
beauty  of  her  eyes. 

By  this  time  the  black-haired  maiden  at  the  piano  had  had 
enough  of  duets  and  glees. 

"Go  and  get  up  a  dance,"  she  said,  in  her  imperative  way,  to 
her  companion  ;  and  as  the  young  painter  dutifully  obeyed,  she 
began  to  play  the  slow  and  gracious  music  of  a  minuet.  How- 
ever, it  was  no  minuet  that  was  in  the  young  lady's  mind.  She 
only  wished  in  that  way  to  introduce  the  idea  of  dancing.  As 
soon  as  the  easels  and  chairs  and  couches  had  been  removed,  and 
the  young  men  were  choosing  their  partners,  she  started  off  with 
"Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,"  and  that  at  a  rattling  pace. 

"  Will  you  join  them  ?"  Walter  Lindsay  said  to  his  companion. 

"  I  think  I  would  rather  look  on,"  Sabina  answered. 

"Then  give  me  the  dance,  and  we  will  sit  it  out  together," 
said  he. 

She  nodded  and  smiled ;  that  was  more  to  her  liking. 

"Will  you  give  me  them  all  on  the  same  terms?"  said  he, 
quickly.     "  I  don't  wish  to  dance." 

But  she  did  not  answer  this;  she  was  looking  on  with  interest 
at  the  formation  of  the  two  long  lines. 

And  so  Lindsay  and  this  fell  enchantress  weTe  left  together 
again;  and  as  the  wild  romp  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  went  on, 
he  was  telling  her  all  about  his  work  and  his  plans  for  the  sum- 
mer (in  answer  to  her  questions,  of  course),  and  he  was  describ- 
ing to  her  the  secret  sylvan  haunts  he  knew,  and  the  remote  little 
inns  he  stayed  f.t,  and  so  forth ;  and  as  all  this  naturally  led  up 
to  his  drawings  and  sketches,  he  took  her  away  into  a  corner  to 
show  her  a  big  portfolio  of  these.  And  meanwhile  he  was  form- 
ing a  dark  design  in  his  brain.  When  the  "  Sir  Roger  de  Cover- 
ley  "  ended,  he  withdrew  from  her  side  for  a  moment. 

"  Percy,"  he  said  to  the  tall  young  painter,  "  get  up  a  cotillon." 


48  SABIXA    ZEIICKA. 

"Don't  know  how." 

"Oh  yes,  you  do,"  was  the  hurried  rejoinder.  "  Anybody  will 
show  you.     Do,  like  a  good  fellow — and  look  sharp  !" 

And  tlien  he  was  back  at  her  side  again.  Now,  in  the  corner 
where  the  portfolio  was,  there  stood  a  triangular  Chippendale  cab- 
inet, filled  with  various  kinds  of  bric-a-brac;  and  among  these — 
and  the  gem  of  the  collection — was  a  small  chalice  of  rock-crystal, 
elaborately  studded  round  with  uncut  stones  of  diverse  colors. 
In  itself  it  was  a  most  beautiful  thing;  besides  which  it  was  ob- 
viously of  great  age  and  value.  Sabina  was  looking  in  at  these 
shelves  with  a  woman's  curiosity. 

"Do  you  know  what  that  dance  is?"  he  asked  of  her. 

She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  carelessly. 

"  No." 

"  It  is  a  cotillon,"  said  he,  rather  breathlessly.  "  And  you  gave 
it  me,  you  know." 

"Did  I?"  said  she,  with  something  of  an  amused  look;  what 
could  it  matter  whether  she  had  made  this  useless  promise  or 
not? 

"  Oh  yes,  you  did,"  he  said,  eagerly.  "  We  are  in  it,  if  we 
choose.  And  do  you  know  what  the  peculiarity  of  this  dance  is? 
— that  you  are  allowed  to  make  your  partner  a  little  present. 
Oh,  I  assure  you  it  is  so — and — and  this  is  what  I  want  you  to 
accept  from  me." 

He  opened  the  cabinet  and  took  out  the  jewcl-bestudded  wine- 
cup.     Sabina  rather  shrunk  back. 

"Oh  no,  oh  no,"  she  said.  "You  are  very  kind — but — but  I 
have  no  place  to  keep  such  things — besides,  I  could  not  take  it. 
Mr.  Lindsay,  please  be  kind  enough  not  to  ask  me." 

Her  eyes  were  earnest;  and  they  could  make  him  do  anything. 
But  he  was  unsatisfied  and  anxious  and  a  little  bit  reckless, 
perhaps. 

"  Then  if  you  will  not  take,  will  you  give  ?"  he  made  bold  to 
say,  but  under  his  breath.  "  Miss  Janie  says  that  is  more  in  your 
way.  And  if  I  ask  a  favor  of  you  ?  You  will  take  this  little 
cup:  well,  you  could  make  it  thirty  times  more  valuable  to  me  if 
you  would  drink  something  out  of  it.     Will  you?" 

She  looked  surprised,  but  not  offended ;  she  did  not  quite  un- 
derstand. 

"  Why,  what  difference  will  that  make  ?"  she  said.     But  before 


SER   FEDEEIGO'S    FALCON.  49 

she  had  finished  the  words  he  had  gone  away,  over  to  a  little  buf- 
fet that  Mrs.  Wygrani  was  improvising  for  the  dancers,  and  the 
next  moment  he  had  returned  with  a  bottle  of  wine  in  his  hand. 
He  poured  a  little  of  the  foaming  fluid  into  the  chalice,  and  of- 
fered it  to  her. 

"  Is  it  a  ceremony  ?"  Sabina  asked,  with  a  smile,  and  she  toolc 
the  chalice  from  him. 

"  Yes,  it  is  part  of  the  dance,"  he  answered,  glad  of  any  excuse 
that  would  obtain  for  him  this  gracious  favor. 

"Do  I  say  anything?     Do  I  wish  anything?"  Sabina  asked. 

"I  will  do  the  wishing,"  he  answered,  quickly;  and  then  she 
raised  the  wine-cup  to  her  lips  and  drank  a  little,  and  then  gave 
it  back  to  him.     lie  could  only  look  his  thanks. 

Mrs.  Wygram's  eyes  had  followed  him  across  the  room. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  your  Sabie  now?"  she  exclaimed 
to  her  daughter,  who  was  assisting  hei'. 

"  Just  the  same  as  ever — why  ?"  was  Janie's  answer. 

"  You  did  not  see  what  she  did  just  now  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you ;  she  drank  out  of  that  crystal  wine- 
cup  just  to  please  him,  I  suppose,  and  he  put  it  back  in  the 
cabinet !" 

"  And  why  shouldn't  she  ?"  said  Janie,  bravely.  "  To  please 
Lim  ? — very  well.  She  would  do  that  or  anything  else  to  please 
any  man,  woman,  or  child  who  happened  to  be  there.  Mother, 
what  has  set  you  all  of  a  sudden  against  Sabie?  You  know  it's 
just  her  universal  kindness." 

"  Kindness  !"  said  the  mother,  with  a  gentle  sarcasm.  "  Per- 
haps it  is.  But  I  have  never  seen  a  more  abominable  piece  of 
flirtation  in  all  my  born  days."  And  with  that  she  went  to  bid 
the  model-butler  bring  some  more  lemonade  and  seltzer-water; 
for  the  young  lady  at  the  piano  had  begun  to  play  a  wild  High- 
land schottische,  and  Mrs.  Wygrara  had  enough  experience  of 
these  scratch  parties  to  know  what  that  meant. 

They  kept  up  the  merrymaking  to  a  very  early  hour  indeed; 
but  after  Sabina  and  the  Wygrams  had  taken  their  departure, 
Lindsay  did  not  seem  to  heed  much  what  was  going  forward. 
And  at  last  he  was  left  alone  in  this  big  studio  with  the  disjecta 
membra  of  the  revels  all  around  him ;  and  he  sate  him  down  to 
think  over  everything  that  had  happened  during  that  eventful 
3 


50  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

evening,  even  to  tlic  smallest  details,  wLerever  Sabina  had  been 
concerned. 

And  so  Scr  Fcderi<:;o  had  not  sacrificed  his  falcon,  after  all — 
thongh  his  offer  of  the  jewelled  chalice  was  a  little  tentative  ef- 
fort in  that  direction.  No;  so  far  from  his  being  poorer  by  her 
coming  to  his  house,  he  was  ever  so  much  the  richer :  that  was 
like  Sabina,  as  the  faithful  Janie  would  have  maintained.  The 
whole  of  this  big  studio  seemed  saturated  with  the  charm  and 
wonder  of  her  presence.  Uere  she  had  sate,  her  hands  folded  in 
her  lap,  talking  to  him  in  her  softly  modulated  voice;  there  she 
had  stood,  her  beautiful  neck  bent  over  the  drawings  and  sketches, 
her  praise  and  admiration  frank  and  ready  enough  ;  it  was  by  the 
side  of  that  easel  she  had  taken  the  wine-cup — now  a  hundred 
times  more  precious  to  him  than  it  had  been  before — into  her 
gentle  hand,  and  raised  it,  and  touched  the  rim  with  her  proudly 
cut  lips,  and  given  it  him  back  with  so  gracious  a  smile.  He  was 
beginning  to  understand  her  now.  If  you  said  "Take!"  her 
answer  was  "  No  ;"  if  you  said  "  Give  !"  her  answer  was  "  Yes." 
But  all  through  these  visions  and  recalling  of  visions  it  was  her 
eyes  that  chiefly  he  saw ;  and  they  were  regarding  him  some- 
how ;  and  always  they  were  pleased  and  generous  and  benignant 
towards  him.  He  made  no  effort  to  banish  the  memory  of  that 
look. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TO    BRIGHTON. 

Sabina  was  nnused  to  late  hours  and  late  suppers.  Next  morn- 
ing she  found  herself  less  brisk  than  was  her  wont;  and  so,  hav- 
ing despatched  Janie  Wygram  on  certain  errands  down  in  the 
Chelsea  direction,  she  thought  she  would  take  a  longer  walk  than 
usual,  and  go  ronnd  by  Hyde  Park  on  her  way  to  Lancaster  Gate. 
And  very  soon  the  fresh  air  revived  her.  It  was  one  of  those 
sudden  spring-like  days  that  occasionally  show  themselves  in 
March;  a  bland  south  wind  was  blowing;  the  Serpentine  was 
shimmering  in  silver;  the  pale- brown  roads  dividing  the  level 
breadths  of  greensward  looked  pleasant  enough  in  the  warm  sun- 
light; and  every  leafless  branch  of  the  elms  and  maples  was  de- 
fined sharp  and  black  against  the  blue  sky.     There  was  a  kind 


TO    BRIGHTON".  51 

of  happy  murmur  all  around,  and  a  look  of  life  and  animation 
among  the  nondescript  crowd.  Carriages  rolled  by  with  their 
occupants  wrapped  in  their  winter  furs;  nurse-maids  were  chat- 
ting as  they  pushed  before  them  the  somnolent  perambulator; 
charming  young  horsewomen  were  walking  side  by  side,  and  per- 
chance exchanging  confidences  about  the  last  night's  ball,  chil- 
dren were  calling,  dogs  scampering,  sparrows  twittering ;  every- 
where there  was  life  and  motion  and  sound — and  it  was  a  sound 
as  of  gladness,  somehow. 

And,  of  course,  Sabina  thought  of  the  poor  young  fellow  who 
was  shut  out  from  all  this  and  kept  a  close  prisoner  there,  and 
her  heart  was  filled  with  pity  for  him ;  and  half  unconsciously 
she  walked  as  quickly  as  she  could,  so  as  to  give  him  as  soon  as 
possible  the  solace  of  her  companionship.  It  is  true — though 
she  did  not  like  to  confess  it  to  herself — that  she  had  begun  to 
suspect  of  late  that  he  was  not  quite  so  grateful  for  her  society, 
and  her  efforts  to  amuse  him,  as  he  might  be.  He  seemed  to  be 
very  well  content  with  the  sporting  papers,  and  with  the  less  of- 
ficious conversation  of  the  professional  nurse.  Perhaps,  then,  she 
— that  is,  Sabina — bored  him  somewhat?  Perhaps  he  did  not 
want  to  be  bothered  with  the  formality  of  talking  to  a  young 
lady  ?  Perhaps  he  might  even  consider  her  a  little  bit  of  a  nui- 
sance? Sabina  did  not  like  to  dwell  on  these  questions  because 
they  sounded  like  pique;  and,  of  course,  it  did  not  matter  to  her 
whether  he  was  grateful  for  her  volunteered  companionship  or 
not. 

On  this  morning  she  found  him  in  very  gay  spirits  indeed ;  a 
number  of  things  contributing.  First  of  all,  Schiller  had  won  the 
Shipley  Hall  Handicap  on  the  previous  Tuesday,  and  Mr.  Fred 
Foster  was  now  in  ample  funds;  but  this  she  knew,  for  she  had 
been  the  gainer  by  that  victory  of  ten  pounds.  Then,  again,  the 
horse  that  he  had  backed  for  the  Lincolnshire  Handicap,  at  20  to 
1  against,  had  quite  suddenly  risen  in  popular  estimation,  and  was 
now  first  favorite,  at  100  to  12  ;  and  here  was  a  fine  opportunity 
for  a  little  business!  But  the  chief  and  glorious  news  was  that 
the  doctor  had  consented  to  his  removal,  and  arrangements  were 
now  being  made  for  his  being  conveyed  to  Brighton. 

"Do  you  know  Brighton,  Miss  Zerabra?"  he  said,  eagerly. 
"  Oh,  I  do,  I  can  tell  you ;  I  know  it  just  down  to  the  ground. 
I  sha'n't  want  for  amusement.     You  see,  I'll  have  rooms  in  the 


52  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

King's  Road;  they're  not  very  dear  just  now,  and  I  can  be 
wheeled  out  to  the  end  of  the  West  Pier  like  tlic  other  cripples, 
and  read  the  papers,  and  listen  to  the  band.  Then  there's  a  tele- 
graph office  at  the  foot  of  the  pier  if  one  wants  to  do  a  little 
business.  Then  there's  the  tennis-court;  they'll  let  me  look  on, 
I  suppose.  Then  the  billiard-rooms  ;  but  I  suppose  they  wouldn't 
like  my  hearse  brought  in  there.  When  I  can  sport  about  in  a 
Bath-chair,  however,  I  know  one  shop  where  I  shall  be  welcome 
enough.  And  then,  the  fellows  I  know  are  always  running  down 
to  Brighton — to  the  Old  Ship;  I  should  hear  what  was  going 
on ;  they  won't  leave  me  out  in  the  cold.  I'm  not  likely  to  be 
tempted,  like  the  ordinary  stay-at-home  backer,  to  try  a  system — " 

"A  system?"  she  said,  with  inquiring  eyebrows. 

"  Well,  a  system  is  a  machine  for  making  it  certain  that  you 
drop  your  money — that's  all,"  he  explained.  "  But  why  should 
I  bore  you  with  such  things — you  don't  understand.  And  you 
seem  a  little  bit  tired  this  morning,  Miss  Zembra." 

She  told  him  something  of  the  festivities  of  the  night  before, 
and  said  that  though  they  were  mild  enough,  she  was  not  used  to 
them,  and  confessed  to  being  a  trifle  fagged. 

"  That  kind  of  thing  would  not  suit  me  at  all,"  he  said,  frankly. 
"  I  like  to  keep  myself  fit  all  the  way  round — fit  for  a  steeple- 
chase course,  or  a  thousand  up  at  billiards,  or  a  pigeon-shoot,  or 
anything.  Now  I'll  tell  you  the  kind  of  feast  I  like — a  break- 
fast at  Jem  Reid's — Reid,  the  trainer,  you  know.  Well,  now, 
that  is  the  prettiest  thing  that  I  have  any  acquaintance  with ; 
Mrs.  Reid,  buxom  and  fresh  as  a  daisy,  at  the  head  of  the  table ; 
an  excellent  breakfast;  fried  soles  done  to  a  turn;  bacon  crisp 
and  hot  from  the  fender,  a  devilled  kidney  or  two,  and  the  best 
coSee  in  the  world.  Then,  as  you're  forging  ahead,  you  may 
chance  to  glance  out  of  the  window,  and  there  is  a  string  of 
horses  marching  past  on  their  way  to  the  heath,  and  just  as  like 
as  not  you'll  hear  Mrs.  Reid  say, '  Well,  I  for  one  don't  object  to 
seeing  the  touts  coming  about;  it  shows  they  think  we  have 
some  horses  worth  watching.'  After  a  breakfast  like,  that,  I'm 
fit  for  the  day;  I  can  do  without  anything  else  all  day  long; 
there's  ney  ver  an  '  sinking '  bothers  me." 

"  You  ought  to  be  very  thankful  you  have  such  a  constitution," 
Sabina  said  ;  she  could  not  help  noticing  the  clearness  of  his  com- 
plexion, where  the  sun-tan  still  lingered,  and  also  the  brilliant 


TO    BRIGHTOX.  53 

liqnidness  of  his  eyes,  which  were  like  those  of  a  school-boy  in 
the  briskest  of  health. 

"It's  just  luck,"  said  he,  in  his  usual  saturnine  fashion.  "I 
happened  to  be  born  like  that !  I  might  have  been  one  of  those 
miserable  devils  who  can't  go  on  for  a  couple  of  hours  without  a 
sherry-and-bitters.  I  don't  blame  them,  but  I'd  rather  be  as  I 
am." 

"  And  when  do  you  go  to  Brighton  ?"  Sabina  asked :  it  oc- 
curred to  her  then  that  the  house  would  become  strangely  empty 
and  uninteresting  when  he  was  gone. 

"  As  soon  as  my  catafalque  is  got  ready,"  he  said,  with  cheer- 
ful good-humor.  "  And  I  shall  be  precious  glad  to  get  there. 
Not  entirely  on  my  own  account — I'm  afraid  you  must  think  me 
an  awfully  selfish  brute,  don't  you  ? — no,  it's  partly  on  account 
of  the  Mater.  You  see,  as  soon  as  I  can  date  my  letters  from 
Brighton,  she  will  be  convinced  that  nothing  very  serious  has 
happened.  I  have  been  mortally  afraid  of  the  old  lady  turning 
up  in  London,  and  getting  alarmed  when  she  found  I  wasn't  in 
Bury  Street.  As  for  my  father,  I  suppose  he's  disappointed  that 
I  haven't  broken  my  neck.  He  has  been  prophesying  these  dozen 
years  back  that  that  would  be  the  end  of  me ;  and  people  like 
their  prophecies  to  come  off,  you  know." 

"  It  has  been  bad  enough  as  it  is,"  said  Sabina,  "  but  I  am  sure 
you  have  borne  your  imprisonment  so  far  with  very  great  cour- 
age. Most  men  would  have  fretted  and  complained,  and  found 
the  forced  idleness  almost  unendurable.  I  hope  you  will  never 
have  such  an  experience  again ;  but  I  must  say  you  make  an  ad- 
mirable patient." 

Now,  surely,  here  was  an  opportunity  for  him  to  show  himself 
a  little  grateful  to  the  young  lady  who  had  given  him  so  much  of 
her  time  and  attention.  It  could  have  been  easily  done ;  nay, 
was  there  not  almost  an  invitation  in  what  she  had  said?  But 
he  did  not  seem  to  take  it  that  way.  He  humorously  remarked 
that  he  hoped  soon  to  be  about  again,  but  that  he  would  take 
care  not  to  challenge  John  Roberts,  Jr.,  to  play  3000  up  for  a 
considerable  time  to  come. 

There  were  one  or  two  questions  of  some  delicacy  arose  ere  he 
could  take  his  departure  for  Brighton. 

"You  know,  Miss  Zembra,"  he  said,  in  his  usual  matter-of-fact 
way,  "  I  am   quite  aware  that  your  people  have  wished  me  at 


64  BABINA    ZEMBUA. 

Jericho  ever  since  I  came  into  the  house,  and  I  don't  wish  to  be 
indebted  to  people  who  wish  me  at  Jericho ;  at  the  same  time,  I 
should  be  sorry  to  offend  you  by  offering  to  pay  for  my  board." 

"  Please,  we  will  not  speak  of  it,"  said  Sabina. 

"  It's  an  awkward  time  of  the  year — if  I  could  send  them  some 
game — " 

He  saw  that  he  only  vexed  her,  and  he  dropped  the  subject, 
privately  reserving  to  himself  the  right  of  bountifully  tipping  the 
servants,  for  he  was  in  ample  funds  at  the  moment. 

Sabina,  on  her  side,  found  herself  quite  unable  to  induce  either 
her  father  or  Lady  Zembra  to  say  a  word  of  farewell  to  their  un- 
bidden and  unwelcome  guest.  She  represented  to  them  what  a 
gross  discourtesy  this  would  be  to  a  man  who  was  distinctly  a 
gentleman  ;  and  that  even  common  humanity  demanded  that  they 
should  be  well-disposed  to  one  who  had  suffered  injury  through 
a  member  of  the  family.  But  no;  Sir  Anthony,  when  he  had 
said  a  thing,  stuck  to  it;  and  he  had  declared  he  would  have 
nothing  whatsoever  to  do  with  this  stranger;  and  Lady  Zembra 
was  only  too  glad  to  escape  from  bother  by  following  the  exam- 
ple of  her  lord.  Sabina  tried  to  make  some  little  explanation 
and  apology  to  Mr.  Fred  Foster  himself ;  but  that  young  gentle- 
man only  laughed  good-naturedly,  said  he  understood  the  whole 
situation,  and  that,  in  their  position,  he  would  have  been  precisely 
in  the  same  state  of  mind. 

Both  Janie  Wygram  and  Sabina  went  to  Victoria  Station  to 
see  him  off,  and  it  was  then  that  Janie  saw  him  for  the  first  time. 

"Ue  does  not  seem  much  of  an  invalid,"  said  Janie,  aside,  ob- 
serving his  sun-browned  complexion  and  clear  blue  eyes. 

"Poor  fellow!"  Sabina  said;  "just  imagine  what  it  must  be 
for  one  who  has  led  so  active  a  life  to  be  chained  down  like  that. 
And  the  doctor  says  it  may  be  months  before  he  can  walk  about. 
I  have  never  seen  any  one  so  patient  and  cheerful." 

"I  should  have  thought  he  was  quick-tempered  by  the  color  of 
his  hair — carroty  curls  always  go  with  a  short  temper,"  said  Janie, 
who  had  not  forgotten  her  grudge  against  this  luckless  young 
man. 

However,  Sabina  did  not  reply  to  this  remark;  for  she  had  to 
step  into  the  carriage  to  bid  Mr.  Foster  good-by. 

"  You  won't  forget  to  let  me  know  how  you  get  on  at  Brigh- 
ton ?"  said  she. 


BY    THE    SHANNON    SHORE.  55 

"Why  should  I  bother  you?"  he  said. 

"But  I  particularly  wish  to  know,  and  as  often  as  it  is  con- 
venient," she  persisted.  '"You  can't  imagine  how  glad  I  shall 
be  when  I  hear  that  you  are  getting  about  again,  and  shaking  off 
the  last  traces  of  that  dreadful  accident." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  he.  "But  don't  you  bother  about  me. 
I  shall  soon  be  skipping  about  again  like  a  two-year-old." 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  and  she  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Good-by,  Miss  Zenibra,"  said  he,  and  he  added:  "You  know 
you've  been  awfully  kind  to  me.  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  repay 
you.     If  you  were  a  man,  I  could." 

"  Indeed  ?"  she  said,  lightly,  for  she  guessed  there  was  some 
small  joke  in  his  mind. 

"  Yes,  I  could.  I'd  advise  you  to  put  every  penny  you  have 
in  the  world  on  Cherry  Blossom  for  the  Grand  National." 

The  train  was  already  moving;  she  had  to  step  quickly  back; 
and  then  she  waved  her  hand  to  him  from  the  platform. 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  she  said,  almost  to  herself,  "  half  of  his  cheer- 
fulness is  only  pretence.  He  feels  it  more  than  he  would  have 
any  one  think." 

And  Janie  looked  at  her,  with  a  curious  glance;  then  they 
turned  and  left  the  station  together,  and  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
BY  THE  SHANNON  SHORE. 


For  ordinary  lovesickncss  there  is  no  more  prompt  and  effica- 
cious cure  than  marriage  ;  but  for  the  heartache  begotten  of  hope- 
less love,  where  is  the  cure  ?  It  is  a  disease  that  people  are  for 
the  most  part  ashamed  of;  they  conceal  it  assiduously,  and  there- 
fore it  may  be  assumed  to  be  more  prevalent  than  appears. 
Walter  Lindsay,  at  all  events,  could  find  no  cure,  though  he  tried 
many.  For  he  was  inordinately  vexed  with  himself  that  in  walk- 
ing along  High  Street,  Kensington,  he  could  not  see  a  tall  woman 
in  the  distance  without  his  heart  leaping  up  with  some  wild  hope 
that  it  might  be  Sabina.  And  why,  each  time  that  he  went 
home,  was  there  a  great  disappointment  for  him  on  finding  there 
no   letter  from   Janie   Wygram,  with   some   chance   mention   of 


56  SABINA   ZEMP.RA. 

Sabina  in  it?  Janie  Wygrain  could  not  keep  continually  writing 
to  him  apropos  of  nothing.  The  most  serious  interests  of  his 
life  were  interfered  with  by  this  agony  of  vague  unrest;  his 
work  was  done  now,  not  for  the  world,  that  was  willing  enough 
to  welcome  it,  but  that  it  might  perchance  win  him  a  smile  of 
Sabina's  approval.  And  as  for  the  hopelessness  of  his  passion — 
well,  he  had  not  studied  her  every  gesture  and  look,  he  had  not 
listened  to  Janic's  minute  and  intimate  description  of  her  ways 
of  life,  and  her  hopes  and  opinions  and  interests,  all  for  nothing; 
and  well  he  knew  that  marriage  formed  no  part  of  Sabina's  plans 
for  the  future.  She  was  very  kind  to  him — for  she  was  kind  to 
everybody;  and  if  he  were  ill,  he  thought  she  might  be  sorry; 
and  for  the  passing  hour — as  had  happened  the  other  evening — 
she  would  smile  on  him,  and  be  generous  and  gracious  and  bland. 
But  as  for  anything  more?  He  knew  he  might  as  well  think  of 
going  into  the  National  Gallery  and  asking  some  fair- browed 
Madonna  to  step  down  from  her  frame,  and  take  his  hand,  and 
go  through  the  years  of  life  with  him. 

And  then  he  would  try  to  argue  himself  out  of  this  insanity 
of  love.  He  had  set  up  an  impossible  ideal,  he  maintained,  to 
himself.  No  woman  could  be  so  fine  as  that.  Why  should  he 
bother  his  head  about  a  phantom  of  his  own  creation  ?  Women 
were  women  ;  he  knew  what  they  themselves  said  and  wrote  of 
one  another;  he  was  no  longer  a  boy,  imagining  everything  that 
wore  a  petticoat  to  be  an  angel.  And  then  he  would  resolve  to 
go  again  to  Janie  Wygram,  and  get  to  know  something  about  the 
real  Sabina,  who  must  have  her  faults  and  weaknesses  and  vani- 
ties like  other  folk.  Alas  !  that  was  not  of  much  avail.  Janie 
quietly  remarked  that  people  might  say  what  they  liked  about 
women  in  general ;  it  was  none  of  her  business ;  but  she  knew 
what  Sabina  was;  nay,  more,  she  did  not  scruple  to  declare  to 
him,  as  she  had  already  declared  to  her  mother,  that,  were  she  a 
man,  she  would  consider  herself  a  fool  if  she  Avere  not  in  love  with 
Sabie.  And  so  there  was  no  hope  for  him  that  way  either  (not 
that  he  was  so  anxious  to  dethrone  his  idol,  as  he  tried  to  per- 
suade iiimsclf  that  he  was)  ;  and  as  Sabina  haunted  every  moment 
of  his  life,  and  came  between  his  every  occupation  and  project 
and  fancy,  he  began  to  think  that  something  must  be  done.  He 
would  go  away  from  this  hateful  Kensington  and  see  whether 
some  of  this  lovesickness  could  not  be  left  behind.     He  would 


BY  THE    SHANNON   SHORE.  57 

seek  out  one  of  Lis  favorite  solitudes,  and  bury  himself  in  that 
secret  place,  and  devote  himself  to  assiduous  work,  or  assiduous 
recreation,  he  cared  not  Avhich.  To  leave  London — to  miss  the 
chance  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  her — to  miss  the  chance  even  of 
hearing  her  name  mentioned  in  the  talking  of  friends — was  not 
pleasant;  but  to  remain  in  London,  suffering  this  useless  torture, 
was  intolerable.  So  one  morning,  and  on  a  sudden  impulse,  he 
telegraphed  over  ~^a  friend  in  the  west  of  L'eland,  asking  whether 
a  place  could  be  foi.nd  for  him  on  a  certain  stretch  of  the  Shan- 
non ;  the  answer  bade  him  come  forthwith,  and  that  afternoon 
he  packed  up  his  sketching  implements  and  fishing-rods,  went 
down  by  the  night  mail  to  Holyhead,  and  was  in  Dublin  in  the 
morning. 

He  had  come  either  to  work  or  to  play ;  there  were  to  be  no 
more  foolish  love-fancies.  And  so,  as  he  sat  in  that  railway- 
carriage,  hour  after  hour,  and  was  taken  away  across  Ireland,  he 
kept  studying  the  ever-varying  and  yet  monotonous  features  of 
the  landscape,  and  the  slowly  changing  effects  of  light.  And 
lucky  it  was  for  him  that  he  was  a  painter :  anybody  else  would 
have  found  that  solitary  journey  a  somewhat  dismal  thing,  and 
the  melancholy  April  day  not  a  little  depressing.  The  leafless 
trees  looked  black  and  harsh  amid  the  raw  reds  and  greens  of 
ploughed  land  and  fallow  ;  and  the  long  stretches  of  bog,  with 
here  and  there  a  few  cottages  and  stone  walls  and  miserable  en- 
closures, were  not  very  cheerful  under  these  cold  and  neutral- 
tinted  skies.  That  is  to  say,  the  ordinary  traveller  would  have 
found  those  skies  neutral-tinted  and  characterless  enough  ;  but  this 
man  was  a  painter,  and  he  could  find  quite  sufficient  technical 
interest  in  regarding  the  softly  shaded  bulk  and  retreating  per- 
spective of  the  larger  masses  of  cloud,  and  in  tracing  here  and 
there  a  tinge  of  golden-white  among  the  pale,  hopeless,  and  yet 
pearly  and  ethereal  blues  and  grays.  And  during  all  this  observa- 
tion, and  studying  of  forms  and  tones  and  "  values,"  he  was  de- 
termined that  his  heart  should  not  go  away  wandering  back  to 
Kensington  Square  and  Sabina  Zembra. 

In  the  afternoon  he  reached  his  destination,  a  straggling  little 
town  on  the  banks  of  the  Shannon,  the  swift-rushing  waters  of 
which  noble  river  are  here  spanned  by  a  long  and  many-arched 
bridge.  He  had  telegraphed  for  rooms  to  the  inn,  where  he  was 
well  known  ;  and  having  deposited  his  things  there,  and  picked 
3* 


58  SAUINA    ZEMBUA. 

out  a  handy  little  trout-rod,  he  walked  down  to  the  river,  to  have 
an  hour's  careless  fishing  and  a  general  look  round.  This  was  a 
picturesque  neighborhood  into  which  he  had  come,  but  the  after- 
noon was  not  favorable;  what  wind  there  was  was  easterly,  and 
that  had  drunk  the  color  out  of  the  hills  around,  that  loomed  high 
and  lurid  as  mountains  through  the  mist.  However,  there  was 
always  the  magnificent  river,  with  its  surging,  rapid  masses  of 
white-tipped  waves,  and  the  pleasant  sound  of  the  rushing  over 
the  weir;  while  eventually  a  sort  of  coppery-red  sunset  broke 
through  the  pall  of  gray.  But  he  was  anxious  about  neither  paint- 
ing nor  fishing  on  this  first  evening;  and  so  he  idly  walked  back 
to  the  inn  again,  and  to  dinner,  in  the  small  sitting-room,  where 
the  faithful  Nora  had  not  forgotten  to  build  for  him  a  big  fire  of 
turf  instead  of  coal. 

This  Nora  was  an  old  friend  of  his ;  and  as  she  came  and  went 
during  dinner,  they  had  a  little  talking  together.  She  was  a  large- 
limbed  creature  of  a  lass,  with  pretty  soft  eyes,  and  black  liair  that 
might  have  been  more  tidily  kept,  and  hands  that  might  have  been 
more  frequently  washed.  But  she  was  friendly  and  obliging  and 
pleasant-mannered,  and  her  amiable  disposition  towards  the  young 
English  artist  was  manifested  in  a  hundred  little  ways.  She  it 
was  who  never  neglected  to  fill  his  fiask  before  he  started  in  the 
morning;  and  she  was  the  last  to  wish  him  good-luck  as  he  left; 
and  she  sent  him  very  nice  things  for  lunch  ;  and  she  was  the 
first  to  congratulate  him  if  the  men  appeared  in  the  evening  bring- 
ing a  big  salmon,  or  perhaps  two,  or  perhaps  three,  with  them  ; 
and  when  he  came  home  empty-handed  the  pretty  Nora  would 
say,  almost  with  tears  in  her  voice,  "Well,  it's  sorry  I  am,  sir; 
what  a  shame  ye  didn't  get  nothin'  all  the  day  long."  "  Alanna 
raachree,"  he  called  her,  and  "  Mavourneen,"  and  "  Nora  asthore," 
and  a  great  many  other  things  of  the  meaning  of  which  he  knew 
very  little  ;  but  Nora  took  all  these  with  a  placid  good-humor,  and 
her  friendliness  was  always  perfectly  within  bounds. 

"  Sure,  sir,"  she  said  to  him  this  evening,  as  he  was  getting  to 
the  end  of  his  dinner,  "  it's  manny's  the  time  we've  been  thinking 
you'd  be  bringing  Mrs.  Lindsay  over  wid  ye,  sir." 

"If  you  wait  for  that  day,  you'll  wait  all  your  life,  Nora,  my 
darling,"  he  answered. 

"  Ah,  don't  say  that,  sir !"  responded  Nora,  cheerfully.  "  Sure 
there's  plenty  of  pretty  young  ladies  in  London." 


BY  THE    SUANXOX    SUOBE.  59 

"  I  suppose  there  are,"  said  he. 

And  instantly  something  in  his  manner  told  the  sharp-witted 
Nora  that  she  had  strnclv  a  wrong  chord  ;  and  she  quickly  changed 
tlie  subject. 

"  Will  ye  have  any  pudding,  sir?"  she  asked.  Here  she  could 
not  go  wrong. 

"  What  kind  of  a  pudding  is  it,  Nora?" 

"  'Tis  an  apple-poy,  sir." 

"Oh  yes,  that'll  do." 

And  it  may  have  fancifully  occurred  to  him  in  his  idle  musings, 
as  this  gentle-manneied  handmaiden  came  and  went,  that  if  Nora 
were  only  to  brush  her  hair  and  wash  her  hands,  and  get  nicely 
dressed  and  smartened  up,  she  would  make  a  very  presentable 
bride ;  and  what  if  he  were  to  induce  her  to  go  away  to  America 
— to  the  West,  where  lie  would  buy  a  farm,  and  they  would  lead  a 
healthy,  happy,  matter-of-fact  existence — so  that  he  should  forget 
his  sorrows,  and  think  of  that  hated  Kensington  no  more?  But 
no;  that  wou/d  not  do  either.  He  might  not  find  the  forgetful- 
ness  he  was  in  search  of.  Besides,  her  hair — each  time  she  came 
into  the  room  he  noticed  it — was  too  dreadfully  untidy.  And 
then,  again,  it  was  just  possible  that  the  Lass  of  Limerick  (this 
was  another  of  the  names  he  gave  her)  might  not  care  to  go. 

By-and-by,  when  Nora  had  removed  the  dinner  things,  and 
brought  him  some  coffee  and  stirred  up  the  peats,  he  was  left 
quite  alone,  and  he  pulled  in  his  chair  to  the  blazing  lire,  and  lit 
his  pipe.  So  far  he  had  done  well.  He  had  scarcely  sent  one 
backward  thought  towards  London  the  whole  day  long.  But  now 
tliere  was  this  to  be  considered.  He  had  promised  to  paint  for 
Sabina  a  replica  of  the  water-color  drawing  she  had  chanced  to 
admire;  and  he  had  understood  from  Janie  that  Miss  Zembra  was 
willing  to  accept  the  same.  But  replicas  were  more  or  less  me- 
chanical things;  besides,  he  had  not  the  drawing  here.  Would  it 
not  be  better,  before  setting  seriously  to  work,  that  he  should  do 
some  sketch  for  her  of  some  actual  living  scene?  A  first  fresh  im- 
pression was  always  preferable.  She  had  shown  a  little  interest 
in  asking  him  about  the  various  remote  corners  that  he  went  to ; 
here  was  one.  Would  she  care  for  a  sketch  of  the  wide  waters  of 
the  Shannon,  the  long  bridge,  the  little  straggling  town,  the  old 
square-towered  church,  and  overlooking  all,  the  distant  slopes  and 
shoulders  of  tlie  Slicve  Bernagh  liills?    It  would  not  be  recalling 


60  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

him  to  her  recollection  ;  it  would  be  redeeming  a  promise.  And 
might  he  not  write  to  Janie — now — and  make  the  suggestion  ? 

It  was  a  pretty  long  letter  that  he  wrote  to  Janie.  And  if  at 
first  he  pretended  that  all  his  concern  was  about  that  picture  ar- 
rangement, in  the  end  he  was  quite  candid,  and  even  glad  to  make 
Janie  once  more  his  confidante. 

"The  truth  is,"  he  wrote,  "  I  came  here  to  try  to  shake  off  cer- 
tain influences — or  rather,  one  particular  influence — that  you  are 
aware  of,  I  dare  say.  And  to  you,  who  see  so  much  of  Miss  Zem- 
bra,  and  know  what  she  is,  T  am  not  ashamed  to  confess  that  it 
may  be  difficult;  but  I  hope  to  succeed  in  the  end;  and  then 
when  this  glamour  of  fascination  has  been  got  rid  of,  I  hope  to 
meet  her  on  the  more  durable  basis  of  friendship,  if  she  will  per- 
mit of  that.  Of  course  a  young  woman,  and  especially  a  beautiful 
young  woman,  may  naturally  distrust  any  such  proposal ;  but  if 
ever  the  need  should  arise,  she  would  find  that  it  was  no  fair- 
weather  friendship  I  had  begged  her  to  accept.  It  would  not  be 
merely  while  her  physical  beauty  lasted  that  I  should  be  at  her 
service  at  any  moment  if  trouble  came.  To  me,  Sabina  (I  may 
call  her  this  in  confidence,  and  you  will  burn  this  letter)  will  al- 
ways be  beautiful,  even  when  her  eyes  have  lost  that  lustre  that 
at  present  is  just  a  little  too  bewildering  for  some  unhappy  mor- 
tals. You  have  helped  me  to  understand  what  this  is;  and  the 
friendship  of  such  a  splendid  creature  would  mean  more  to  me 
than  I  can  well  tell  you.  I  suppose  nothing  else  is  possible. 
You  say  so ;  and  you  ought  to  know.  At  the  same  time  I  am 
aware  that  you  don't  wish  her  to  marry  anybody ;  and  that,  if  it 
were  a  matter  of  advice,  that  is  the  advice  you  would  give  her. 
Now  let  me  warn  you,  dear  Miss  Janie,  that  you  have  not  seen 
very  much  of  the  world;  and  that  to  give  advice  in  such  a  serious 
matter  to  any  one  involves  a  grave  responsibility.  It  is  all  very 
well  just  now.  Sabina  is  young  and  vigorous,  self-confident  in 
the  audacity  of  her  health  and  good  spirits,  and  happy  enough  in 
shedding  the  bounty  of  her  generous  disposition  upon  all  comers. 
But  it  cannot  be  always  so.  She  cannot  be  always  so.  She  might 
want  a  helping  hand ;  she  is  away  from  her  family ;  sickness 
might  overtake  her;  she  might  get  robbed  of  her  good  looks, 
which  are  an  easy  passport  just  now  to  everybody's  favor.  In 
any  case,  she  must  inevitably  grow  old.  Is  it  wise  to  ask  such  a 
woman  to  face  the  coming  years  alone  ?     You  know  better  than 


BY  THE    SHANNON    SHORE.  61 

any  one  how  sensitive  she  is,  though  she  pretends  not  to  be;  how 
eager  she  is  that  people  should  like  her;  how  she  seems  to  crave 
for  sympathy  and  atfection.  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  rave  about 
her  any  more,  for  you  would  think  it  was  all  special  pleading; 
but  you  just  be  careful,  dear  Miss  Janie,  not  to  do  any  mischief 
where  the  life-long  interests  of  your  best  and  dearest  friend  are 
concerned.  If  she  will  go  that  way,  it  is  well.  Each  human  be- 
ing has  his  or  her  own  ideal,  I  suppose.  And  anyhow,  I'm  going 
to  try  to  banish  all  this  mystification  and  glamour  out  of  my  head  ; 
and  when  I  come  back  to  London,  I  hope  to  be  able  to  understand 
what  Sabina  really  is — and  no  doubt  she  is  a  great  deal  finer  than 
any  of  my  imaginings  about  her  ;  and  you  will  help  us  to  become 
good,  true  friends,  and  so  make  a  satisfactory  end  of  the  whole 
matter.  And  I'm  going  to  send  your  mother  a  salmon  as  soon 
as  I  catch  one." 

It  was  a  very  sensible  letter  to  be  written  by  a  man  whose 
brains  had  got  so  thoroughly  bewildered ;  and  no  doubt  at  the 
moment  he  believed  every  word  he  had  written.  But  as  he  sat 
there  later  on,  staring  into  the  fire,  perhaps  some  other  visions 
may  have  arisen  before  him — only,  it  is  not  necessary  they  should 
be  put  down  here. 

Next  morning  he  was  all  alert;  the  boatmen  were  waiting  out- 
side; the  long  Castle  Connel  rods  had  been  put  together;  Nora 
had  filled  his  flask — just  in  case  there  might  be  occasion  to  drink 
"a  tight  line  to  your  honor;"  and  prescntl}^  when  he  had  bun- 
dled his  sketching  implements  together,  they  were  all  on  their 
•way  down  to  the  boat.  This  was  a  very  excellent  recreation  for 
a  landscape-painter  (as  well  he  knew  before) ;  for  when  once  the 
coble,  or  "cot,"  was  out  in  the  midst  of  the  wild-whirling  waters, 
the  men  not  only  managed  that,  but  the  fishing  as  well ;  trolling 
— "  dragging,"  as  they  called  it — with  prawn  and  "  killoch  "  and 
phantom  minnow,  or  lashing  the  stream  with  a  forty-yard  line  and 
a  big  gold  and  red  and  purple  Shannon  fly,  as  the  occasion  de- 
manded;  while  he,  if  he  chose,  could  sit  idle,  studying  effects  of 
light  and  color  and  form,  or  jotting  these  down  in  his  book  when 
he  was  so  inclined.  And  then  again,  when  the  light  was  bad,  or 
the  part  of  the  river  they  happened  to  be  at  uninteresting,  he 
would  get  up  and  take  the  casting-rod  and  have  a  turn  at  the 
throwing ;  and  if  the  forty  yards  were  now  reduced  to  twenty-five, 
still  that  was  not  a  bad  line  for  an  amateur  to  throw  out  clean. 


62  SABINA    ZEMBUA. 

On  this  particular  morning  he  was  less  interested  in  the  fishing 
than  usual ;  all  his  concern  was  to  find  something  fine  for  the 
sketch  he  was  to  send  Sabina.  And  how  would  that  do  now  ? 
The  built-up  bank  all  ablaze  with  golden  gorse ;  above  that  a  row 
of  leafless  trees  against  a  sky  of  pale  lurid  blues  and  faint  red 
grays;  and  underneath  the  bank,  and  all  in  front  of  him,  the 
rushing,  boiling,  surging  river;  here  and  there  straight,  swift  rapids; 
here  and  there  masses  of  foam-crested  waves  ;  and  here  and  there 
a  large  circular  eddy  of  black,  oily-looking  smooth  water,  on  which 
were  reflected,  in  wan  and  spectral  fashion,  the  whitewashed  walls 
of  an  old  dilapidated  mill.  He  looked  at  it  again,  this  way  and 
that,  but  it  would  not  do.  The  east  wind  had  withered  the  color 
out  of  the  landscape;  this  furious  river  was  too  difiicult  for  a 
mere  sketch  ;  he  wanted  a  blue  sky  on  the  water  instead  of  those 
reflections  of  gray  and  black.  So  he  gave  that  up  for  the  present 
and  took  the  rod  from  Johnnie  Ryan,  and  began  to  belabor  the 
whirling  currents  with  five-and-twenty  yards  of  lino  and  a  big 
"  silver  doctor." 

In  the  afternoon  he  was  more  fortunate.  For  although  that 
weird  haze  still  hung  over  the  lurid  blue  hills  and  the  ghostly 
landscape,  and  the  sun,  when  the  clouds  slowly  parted,  showed 
himself  a  sphere  of  mottled,  dusky  gold,  by-and-by,  as  the  even- 
ing drew  on,  a  beautiful  piuky-gray  light  began  to  shine  in  the 
western  heavens;  and  the  stems  and  branches  and  twigs  of  the 
leafless  trees  grew  to  be  of  a  rich,  warm  purple ;  and  the  dark 
green  of  the  grass  on  the  bank  and  the  deep  yellow  of  the  gorse 
became  strangely  intense  and  clear. 

"Put  me  ashore  now,  Johnnie,"  he  said  to  the  chief  boatman. 

"  Sure  'tis  the  best  bit  of  the  lake  we're  just  coming  to," 
Johnnie  remonstrated. 

"  Very  well ;  you  fire  away,  and  pick  up  a  forty-pounder.  I'm 
going  ashore — look  alive  now  !" 

And  perhaps  he  was  a  little  anxious  as  he  began,  and  half  for- 
getful of  his  own  mastery  of  his  craft.  He  was  so  anxious  to 
justify  himself  in  Sabina's  eyes.  She  had  not  seen  much  of  his 
work ;  nor  had  any  one,  in  fact.  His  Wigtonshire  patrimony 
had  relieved  him  from  the  necessity  of  laboring  for  the  market ; 
and  his  reputation,  which  was  distinct  and  marked,  prevailed 
chiefly  among  artists  themselves,  who  were  wont  to  become  very 
enthusiastic  indeed  about  Walter  Lindsay's  drawings.     Of  course 


BY  THE    SHANNOX    SHOKE,  63 

there  were  those  who  decried  his  method,  and  called  him  an  Im- 
pressionist, and  the  like.  And  he  was  an  Impressionist  of  a  kind  ; 
but  his  Impressionism  was  of  the  higher  order  that  refuses  to  deal 
with  that  which  is  unnecessary,  not  the  Impressionism  which  is 
chiefly  marked  by  a  clever  avoidance  of  ditiiculties.  He  began 
by  being  a  Realist  of  the  severest  type ;  for  years  he  had  labored, 
in  Switzerland,  in  Sweden,  in  Holland,  at  patient  and  faithful 
studies  of  rocks  and  foliage  and  water  and  sky  ;  but  gradually 
he  had  emancipated  himself ;  Nature  was  no  longer  his  master 
and  tyrant;  he  chose  for  himself;  he  left  undone  what  he  did 
not  think  worth  doing,  but  what  he  did  do  was  done  with  the 
reverence  born  of  knowledge.  Nature  was  his  friend  and  com- 
panion, if  no  longer  his  master;  and  hitherto  he  had  been  well 
content  to  wander  away  by  himself  into  any  kind  of  a  solitude, 
working  sometimes,  idling  sometimes,  but  always  more  or  less 
unconsciously  studying.  And  if  he  was  not  scrupulous  about 
detail,  where  he  did  put  in  detail  it  was  right:  he  was  none  the 
worse  a  painter  that  he  was  also  a  skilled  geologist,  and  that  his 
herbarium  was  of  his  own  collection,  and  bore  record  of  many  a 
toilsome  pilgrimage. 

And  now  he  began  to  pick  up  his  courage  again,  for  the  effect 
proved  lasting,  and  he  was  getting  on.  The  beautiful  ethereal 
rose-grays  still  dwelt  in  the  higher  heavens;  the  leafless  trees 
grew  even  warmer  in  their  purple,  and  the  gorse-bushcs  burned 
gold  in  the  pallid  shadow  of  the  bank.  He  glanced  at  Johnnie 
Ryan  from  time  to  time,  for  Johnnie  was  fighting  a  salmon  far- 
ther down  the  stream,  and  he  wanted  to  see  the  end  of  that  strug- 
gle. And  then  he  wondered  whether  Sabina  would  care  for  this 
bit  of  a  sketch.  It  was  not  of  the  chromo-lithographic  kind  ;  it 
was  not  striking:  moreover,  a  good  deal  of  compromise  was  nec- 
essary even  with  what  was  before  him.  But  he  thought  he  could 
make  something  out  of  it  ultimately — a  tender  kind  of  a  thing ; 
not  strong  in  color,  perhaps,  rather  ethereal  and  delicate,  but,  if 
possible,  luminous  and  fine.  He  hoped  Sabina  would  like  it. 
AVould  she  understand  the  reticence  of  it?  Would  she  under- 
stand what  had  made  him  hold  his  hand  somewhat?  Of  course, 
he  could  do  the  other  thing  if  he  chose.  But  it  was  something 
in  the  nature  of  a  pearl  that  he  wished  to  give  to  Sabina. 

He  carried  out  the  sketch  as  far  as  was  possible  in  the  circum- 
stances, until  the  rose-hue  in  the  sky  began  to  fade  into  dusk. 


64  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

and  then  he  bundled  up  his  things,  fairly  well  content.  And 
Johnnie  Ryan  and  his  companion  had  got  the  salmon — a  twenty- 
two-poiinder,  and  they  were  also  well  content.  He  let  the  two 
men  go  on  before  him  ;  and  then,  after  sitting  there  a  while,  con- 
sidering what  he  could  do  further  with  the  sketch,  and  perhaps 
thinking  of  one  or  two  other  things,  he  rose  and  walked  slowly 
home  by  the  river-bank,  underneath  a  twilight  made  transparent 
by  a  single  star. 


CHAPTER  VIH. 

THE  NEW  FRIENDSHIP. 


Of  a  sudden  all  this  was  changed;  for  the  next  morning  the 
wind  was  blowing  freshly  from  the  west,  and  the  world  was  ablaze 
with  color — rich  and  glowing  and  keen  ;  and  from  that  moment 
forward  every  day  as  it  went  by  was  filled  to  overflowing  with 
brisk  work,  and  recreation  quite  as  brisk.  When  he  had  done 
a  sufficient  quantity  of  the  former,  he  fell  upon  the  latter  with 
might  and  main,  and  flogged  those  surging  rapids  of  the  Shan- 
non with  a  persistency  and  skill  that  won  even  the  approval  of 
Johnnie  Ryan.  And  the  evenings?  —  well,  the  evenings  were 
given  over  now  to  the  glorification  of  friendship.  That  was  to 
be  the  future  happiness.  He  would  go  back  to  London  cured  of 
the  cruel  madness  of  love,  and  ask  that  beautiful,  high -gifted 
creature  to  give  him  of  her  companionship  as  far  as  that  might 
be  possible.  He  would  prove  the  faith  that  was  in  him  too. 
Others  might  try  to  woo  and  win  her;  he  would  be  her  friend, 
no  matter  what  befell.  He  had  heard  of  such  things;  and  the 
situation  might  become  fine  in  its  way.  And  so  he  worked  hard, 
and  fished  hard,  and  bade  himself  be  of  good  cheer;  he  had  ban- 
ished that  morbid  lovesickness  by  main  force ;  Sabina  was  to  be 
his  friend. 

There  came  a  large  envelope  containing  a  couple  of  cards  for 
the  Private  View  of  the  Royal  Academy.  A  week  or  two  previ- 
ous he  had  received  the  honor  of  an  invitation  to  be  present  at 
the  banquet;  this  was  an  additional  compliment,  and  highly 
pleased  was  he  with  both.  But,  of  course,  his  first  thought  was 
of  Sabina ;  and  as  he  guessed  that  old  Mr.  Wygram  would  as 


THE    NEW    FRIENDSHIP,  65 

usual  have  received  a  similar  couple  of  tickets  (this  was  a  friend- 
ly act  on  the  part  of  the  Academy  towards  one  who  was  not  now 
as  prosperous  as  once  he  had  been),  and  as  he  knew  that  Mrs. 
Wygram  and  Janie  invariably  made  use  of  these,  he  at  once  tele- 
graphed to  Miss  Janie  that  he  had  a  card  for  Miss  Zembra,  if  she 
cared  to  go,  and  also  begging  her  to  fix  the  engagement.  That 
meant,  naturally,  that  he  should  escort  the  three  ladies  to  Bur- 
lington House  and  show  them  round  the  rooms.  But  it  was  all 
in  the  way  of  friendship. 

Next  morning  he  said  casually  to  the  Lass  of  Limerick, 

"  Nora,  what  do  you  think,  now,  would  be  a  nice  present  for  a 
young  lady  ?" 

"  Sure  a  sweetheart  mightn't  be  amiss,  sir,"  said  Nora,  demure- 
ly, as  she  was  putting  the  eggs  on  the  table. 

"Ah,  you're  too  facetious,  Nora,  alanna,  for  one  of  your  tender 
years.  How  about  a  salmon,  now  ?  What  if  I  were  to  send  the 
young  lady  a  salmon?" 

"She'd  be  mighty  plazed,  sir,  I  suppose,"  said  Nora,  as  she  was 
heaping  some  more  turf  on  the  fire. 

"  But  the  fish  ought  to  be  of  my  own  catching — don't  you 
think  so  ?" 

"And  maybe  it's  herself  you'd  rather  be  afther,  sir,  begging 
your  pardon,"  said  Nora,  darting  a  glance  at  him  from  the  door. 

"  Nora,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  is  that  the  fashion  they  have  of 
talking  in  Limerick?" 

"  It's  the  fashion  they  talk  all  over  the  wurruld,  sir,  when  a 
young  gentleman  spakes  about  a  young  lady  in  that  way — and 
tliat's  the  truth,  sir,"  said  Nora,  as  she  smiled  maliciously  and 
disappeared  into  the  passage. 

He  was  not  to  be  deterred  by  the  sarcasm  of  the  Pride  of  Kil- 
dare  (another  of  her  names,  by-the-way).  This  was  a  happy  in- 
spiration, that  he  should  send  a  salmon  to  Sabina.  He  did  not 
stay  to  ask  himself  what  she  could  do  with  it.  Why,  it  was  the 
right  and  privilege  of  every  sportsman  to  make  a  present  of  game 
— salmon  or  venison  or  grouse,  or  whatever  it  might  be  —  to 
whomsoever  he  chose,  even  to  a  stranger.  Sabina  would  have 
the  compliment;  the  Wygrams  would  have  the  fish.  And  surely 
tliis  noble  river,  that  he  had  made  friends  with,  that  he  had  come 
to  know  so  well,  that  he  had  formed  so  great  an  affection  for, 
would  yield  him  a  worthy  prize?     Anyhow,  his  colors  and  block 


66  SABINA   ZEMBRA, 

and  camp-stool  and  sketching  umbrella  were  all  left  unheeded  in 
a  corner;  and  he  was  busy  with  minnows  and  prawns  and  "Jock 
Scotts"  and  "  Blue  Doctors;"  and  forthwith  he  was  on  his  way 
down  to  the  coble  with  Johnnie  Ryan  and  his  mate. 

And  what  a  day  this  was  for  idleness,  whether  afloat  or  ashore ! 
The  spring  seemed  to  have  come  upon  them  with  a  bound.  The 
lilac  and  silver-white  April  skies  were  filled  with  blowing  clouds ; 
and  now  there  were  dazzling  floods  of  light,  and  again  the  gloom 
of  a  passing  shower;  the  yellow  gorse  burned  hot  in  the  sun; 
there  were  blush-tinted  anemones  in  the  leafless  woods,  and  prim- 
roses everywhere,  and  shy  violets;  the  swallows  were  skimming 
and  dipping  and  twittering.  A  robin  sung  loud  and  clear  from 
the  topmost  twig  of  a  hawthorn-bush.  And  then  the  splendid 
river,  changing  with  every  mood  of  the  sky  :  at  times  sullen  and 
dark  under  the  heavy  rain-clouds,  and  then  again,  when  these  had 
passed,  and  the  heavens  were  bountifully  flooding  the  world  with 
light,  this  great  mass  of  water  became  a  mighty  highway  of  flash- 
ing, vivid,  intense  cobalt  blue,  lying  between  these  soft  green 
meadows  and  that  high  bank,  crowned  with  its  golden  furze, 

"  Wo  ought  to  get  a  fish  to-day,  Johnnie,"  he  said,  as  he  was 
flogging  away  at  the  water. 

"  Bedad,  and  it's  more  than  one  we'll  have  before  going  home 
this  night,  your  honor,"  was  Johnnie's  confident  answer. 

Moreover,  the  prophecy  came  true,  for  that  evening,  as  they 
went  home  through  the  dusk,  the  men  had  three  very  nice  fish  to 
carry,  one  of  them  weighing  twenty-eight  pounds;  and  it  was  the 
twenty-eight-pounder,  of  course,  that  was  to  go  to  Kensington 
Square, 

A  twenty-eight-pound  salmon  ;  a  ticket  for  the  Private  View 
of  the  Academy  ;  a  water-color  drawing  of  a  rose-gray  evening 
over  the  beautiful  river — these  were  the  gifts  he  now  had  for 
Sabina;  but  they  were  not  to  show  her  that  he  was  continually 
thinking  of  her;  they  were  not  to  beg  for  her  favor  in  any  way ; 
they  were  merely  to  cement  the  new  friendship.  All  the  same, 
he  began  to  wonder  why  Janie  had  not  written.  He  watched  the 
posts.  He  tormented  himself  with  doubts.  Perhaps  he  had  been 
too  bold.  Perhaps  Sabina  was  ill.  To  think  of  her — while  here 
he  was  in  this  blowing  April  weather,  with  the  spring  flowers  car- 
peting the  wood,  and  the  west  winds  redolent  of  the  full-blos- 
somed gorse,  and  the  great  river  shining  back  the  deep  blue  of 


THE    NEW    FRIENDSHIP.  67 

the  young  year's  skies — to  think  of  lier  as  perchance  in  a  dull 
room  in  that  gray  Kensington  Square,  lying  pale  and  wan,  it 
might  be,  with  white  fingers  limp  on  the  coverlet!  Why  was  he 
not  in  London,  that  he  might  go  straight  to  Janie  and  ask?  If 
Sabina  were  ill,  however  slightly,  small  messages  from  the  outside 
world  might  vary  the  monotony  of  the  sick-room — flowers  and 
fruit  and  books,  and  an  occasional  word  of  remembrance  and  sym- 
pathy— these  could  do  no  harm.  Then  again  he  would  argue 
himself  out  of  this  fear.  Sabina  was  very  busy.  Janie,  too,  had 
many  things  to  look  after.  Perhaps  she  was  waiting  to  see  wheth- 
er Sabina  could  definitely  fix  about  the  Private  View,  Neverthe- 
less, he  came  down-stairs  early  in  the  morning,  lest  there  should 
be  an  envelope  waiting  for  him  on  the  breakfast -table.  And 
sometimes  he  would  leave  the  fishing  just  as  the  evening  looked 
most  promising,  and  wander  back  to  the  inn,  hoping  for  an  an- 
swer from  Kensington  Square.  But  all  this  anxiety,  and  needless 
alarm,  and  torturing  speculation  had  nothing  to  do  with  love  or 
lovesickness ;  it  was  but  part  of  the  newly  established  friend- 
ship. 

Nora  was  a  good-hearted  lass,  and  shrewd  withal ;  and  she  had 
got  to  suspect  that  Mr.  Lindsay  was  troubling  himself  about  the 
non-arrival  of  a  letter;  so  that  one  day  when  the  afternoon  post 
brought  a  little  batch  of  correspondence  for  him,  she  straightway 
sought  out  a  small  shock-headed  boy  and  sent  him  down  with  the 
parcel  to  the  boat.  The  letter  from  Janie  had  come  at  last,  and 
eagerly  enough  it  was  opened.  She  apologized  for  not  having  an- 
swered sooner,  but  said  she  had  been  extremely  busy.  The  young 
gentleman  who  had  met  with  the  accident  had  left  Lancaster  Gate; 
following  that,  Sabina  had  many  arrears  of  her  own  particular 
work  to  attack,  and  Janie  had  been  helping  her.  And  as  he  read 
on,  remorse  of  conscience  struck  him.  It  appeared  that  his  letter 
had  very  much  distressed  this  tender  soul.  Any  charge,  however 
slight  or  remote,  against  her  beloved  Sabie  was  a  cause  of  deep 
concern  to  her,  and  she  had  got  it  into  her  head  that  Mr.  Lindsay 
was  rather  hinting  that  Sabina  was  impervious  to  the  claims  of 
friendship;  and  she  considered  this  to  be  most  especially  ungrate- 
ful on  his  part. 

"Don't  think  me  impertinent,  dear  Mr.  Lindsay,"  she  wrote, 
"but  really  I  cannot  help  asking  what  you  would  like  more.  You 
•write  as  if  you  and  Sabie  were  strangers;  that  you  were  coming 


68  SABIXA    ZKJjCRA. 

back  to  beg  for  a  little  friendship  from  ber ;  and  that  is  all  you 
have  to  say  in  return  for  the  way  she  treated  you  that  night  at 
your  house !  Why,  she  just  devoted  herself  to  you  the  whole 
evening,  and  had  scarcely  a  word  or  a  look  for  any  one  else — so 
much  so  that  it  was  remarked — and  was  as  kind  to  you  as  an  un- 
married girl  could  be.  I  think  you  want  a  little  too  much,  if  I 
must  speak  ray  mind.  If  you  think  that  Sabie  is  not  already  your 
friend,  I  can  only  say  that  you  are  very  inuch  mistaken;  and 
friendship  with  Sabie  means  something.  And  she  is  very  much 
interested  in  your  work,  as  I  know ;  and  when  I  told  her  where 
you  were,  among  such  beautiful  things — well,  I  confess  I  was 
mean  enough  to  say  it  was  lucky  for  some  folk  that  they  could 
go  away  and  live  among  green  fields  and  spring  flowers  and 
woods,  and  all  that,  for  we  were  walking  through  a  horrid  little 
lane  over  in  Battersea — she  was  quite  sharp  with  me,  and  said  it 
was  a  very  good  thing  some  people  could  go  away  and  bring  us 
back  reports  how  beautiful  the  world  was,  and  give  us  pictures  of 
it  that  we  could  look  at  again  and  again  with  delight,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  all  our  troubles  and  worry.  Yes ;  and  she  met  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Academy  at  somebody's  house  the  other  evening,  and 
he  was  saying  very  nice  things  about  you,  and  she  came  home  and 
repeated  every  one  of  them,  and  was  very  much  pleased  about  it, 
and  said  how  fine  a  thing  it  must  be  for  one  in  your  position  to 
have  such  a  career  before  him,  and  to  have  won  such  esteem  al- 
ready from  your  own  brothers  in  art.  But  that  isn't  friendship — 
oh  no !  That  is  the  carelessness  of  a  stranger.  However,  I  am  not 
going  to  scold  any  more,  for  I  don't  know  that  there  was  not 
some  make-believe  in  your  letter.  Only  it  does  seem  hard  on  Sa- 
bie. I  suppose  you  don't  know  how  kind  she  was  to  you  that 
evening?  Or  how  much  attention  do  you  expect,  if  I  may  speak 
frankly  ?  I  wondered  that  none  of  the  other  gentlemen  were  jeal- 
ous of  the  way  she  devoted  herself  to  you,  both  during  supper 
and  in  the  studio ;  but  I  suppose  they  find  girls  like  Miss  Sadleir 
and  Tottie  Morrison  more  attractive?  Well, they're  welcome,  so 
long  as  they  leave  me  my  Sabie.  She  told  me  you  had  offered 
her  that  beautiful  old  wine-cup,  and  she  thought  it  was  very  kind 
of  you ;  but  of  course  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  her.  Besides,  3'ou 
could  not  expect  her  to  accept  so  valuable  a  gift.  Mother,  who 
-has  very  sharp  eyes,  says  that  something  else  happened  just  about 
that  time.    Do  you  know  ?    Of  course,  I  would  not  ask  Sabie  for 


THE    NEW    FRIENDSHIP.  69 

worlds.    But  did  it  happen  ?    That  was  not  friendship,  anyway  ? 
And  yet  you  seem  to  think  that  Sabie  is  not  kind  to  you. 

He  took  her  scolding  manfully,  and  only  wished  for  more.  For 
it  was  very  grateful  to  him  to  have  it  so  hotly  argued  and  proved, 
by  one  who  ought  to  know,  that  Sabina  held  him  in  some  little 
regard;  and  the  references  to  that  evening  in  the  studio  recalled 
an  abundance  of  happiness,  and  he  liked  to  be  told  that  Sabina 
bad  shown  him  so  much  favor.  He  read  the  scolding  over  and 
over  again,  and  did  not  care  whether  he  merited  it  or  not;  it  was 
all  about  Sabina,  and  that  was  sufficient.  But  that  chance  remark 
about  the  lane  in  Battersea  gave  him  a  twinge  of  conscience.  He 
could  see  the  two  girls  trudging  through  those  squalid  thorough- 
fares, on  their  errands  of  kindness  and  help,  the  air  fetid  around 
them,  the  skies  hidden  away  from  them.  While  as  for  him,  look 
at  his  surroundings  at  this  moment !  The  afternoon  happened  to 
be  strangely  still  and  peaceful — it  was  like  an  evening  in  summer. 
On  the  higher  meadows  lay  a  soft  and  mellow  radiance,  streaming 
over  from  the  west;  but  down  here  the  wide  stream  was  in  shad- 
ow ;  and  odd  enough  was  the  contrast  between  the  turmoil  of  the 
water — with  its  sharp  and  sudden  gleams  of  blue-black  and  silver- 
gray — and  that  peaceful  golden  landscape,  and  the  pale,  cloudless, 
overarching  sky.  Here  and  there  a  bird  was  singing;  and  ever 
there  was  the  lulling  rush  of  the  river,  a  murmur  filling  the  still 
evening  air.  And.  then  he  thought  of  Battersea,  and  of  Sabina, 
and  of  her  generous  defence  of  him ;  and  all  he  could  say  for 
himself  was  this — that  if  any  of  his  transcripts  of  these  peaceful 
and  beautiful  scenes  on  the  Shannon  had  a  trace  of  interest  in  her 
eyes,  or  could  make  a  dull  corner  of  the  house  in  Kensington 
Square  one  whit  the  brighter,  she  was  welcome  to  her  choice  of 
them,  or  to  all  of  them  put  together. 

There  was  further  good  news  for  him  in  the  postscript. 

"  About  the  Private  View  of  the  Academy,"  Miss  Wygram 
wrote,  "  Sabie  says  I  am  to  thank  you  very  much  for  remember- 
ing her,  and  she  will  be  glad  to  go  with  us,  if  nothing  unusual 
should  happen." 

Now,  here  was  a  notable  thing ;  for  though  he  was  neither  Ac- 
ademician nor  Associate,  he  would  be  in  a  certain  sense  Sabina's 
liost  on  this  occasion,  and  responsible  for  her  being  pleased  and 
entertained.  And  what  could  he  do?  Was  there  no  special  fa- 
vor he  could  obtain  for  her  ?     Numbers  of  both  Academicians  and 


70  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

Associates  were  among  his  most  intimate  friends :  perhaps  they 
could  procure  for  him  the  use  of  some  small  room  somewhere,  so 
that  Miss  Zenibra  and  the  little  party  he  might  make  up  could 
have  lunch  in  peace  and  quiet,  instead  of  among  the  lieated  crowd  ? 
Failing  that  (and  it  did  not  sound  possible,  somehow),  by  going 
early  surely  he  could  secure  a  table  in  the  refreshment-room,  up 
at  the  window-end?  And  who  could  prove  himself  a  better  guide 
to  her  as  she  went  round  the  Galleries?  For  each  year  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  sending  in  a  little  water-color,  not  to  ask  for  public 
favor  at  all,  but  merely  to  gain  for  him  a  ticket  for  the  Varnish- 
ing Day;  and  he  would  devote  the  whole  of  that  day  to  a  rapid 
survey  of  the  Exhibition,  so  that,  when  Sabina  started  on  her 
round  of  the  rooms,  he  could  take  her  without  trouble  and  explo- 
ration to  everything  worth  seeing.  On  Private  View  Day,  as  every 
one  knows,  the  women-folks  rather  let  themselves  loose  in  the  way 
of  conspicuous  attire.  And  if  Sabina  should  come  among  them 
in  her  simple  gown  of  plain  brown  homespun,  with  its  black  but- 
tons and  frilled  tight  cuffs !  He  hoped  she  would.  It  was  the 
dress  he  used  to  look  out  for  in  Kensington  High  Street ;  it  was 
the  dress  that  used  to  make  bis  heart  leap — before  the  era  of 
friendship  had  opened.  And  better  than  any  extravagance  of 
fashion,  it  seemed  to  suit  the  tall  and  lithe  and  graceful  form. 

But  for  the  consideration  of  these  and  other  high-stirring  proj- 
ects and  fancies  he  wanted  more  freedom  and  the  excitement  of 
motion  ;  this  coble  amid  the  hurrying  waters  of  the  Shannon  was 
all  too  narrow  and  confined  ;  so  he  surrendered  his  rod  to  Johnnie 
Ryan,  got  put  ashore,  and  presently  was  walking  rapidly  along  the 
unfrequented  highway  in  the  direction  of  Lough  Derg.  And 
what,  he  was  asking  himself,  ought  he  to  strive  for,  in  order  to 
prove  himself  worthy  of  this  rare  companionship  that  was  to  be 
his?  how  was  he  to  win  further  favor  in  her  eyes?  Women,  he 
understood,  rather  liked  the  society  of  famous  men — of  men  who 
had  "done  something"  and  who  were  known  to  the  world. 
Well,  now,  he  had  never  striven  for  fame  at  all.  He  had  striven 
to  win  the  appreciation  of  his  brother-artists,  and  he  had  succeeded 
in  a  most  enviable  degree ;  but  chiefly,  it  may  be  said,  he  worked 
for  absolute  love  of  the  work  itself.  His  Wigtonshire  property 
rendered  him  independent  of  the  dealers,  and  of  any  caprice  of 
public  fashion  ;  he  did  his  work  in  his  own  way  ;  he  could  afford 
to  linger  over  it,  and  produce  his  best ;  and  the  ultimate  fate  of 


THE    NEW   FUIENDSniP.  71 

it,  or  the  effect  it  would  have  on  his  reputation,  did  not  bother 
him  much.  But  if  women  liked  the  society  of  famous  men  ^ 
Surely  there  was  nothing  unworthy  in  seeking  the  public  approv- 
al, in  doing  something  definite,  in  making  his  work  perhaps  a 
little  more  consecutive?  He  was  walking  near  to  the  Shannon 
on  tliis  placid  and  golden  evening.  And  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  that  a  series  of  drawings  illustrative  of  the  mighty  river  from 
its  source  away  in  the  north  down  to  its  disappearance  in  the  sea 
might  show  a  certain  coherence,  and  appeal  to  the  public  with 
more  effect  than  any  mere  number  of  disconnected  water-colors. 
It  was  a  bold  project,  for  the  Shannon  during  its  course  of  two 
hundred  miles  flows  through  almost  every  kind  of  country.  He 
would  have  to  face  mountain  scenery  and  lake  scenery  and  gentle 
pastoral  scenery  ;  and  he  would  have  to  deal  with  the  varied  char- 
acter of  the  river  itself,  now  widening  out  into  such  inland  seas 
as  Lough  Ree  and  Lough  Derg,  again  gliding  swiftly  by  peaceful 
meadows,  or  wildly  racing  and  chasing  over  the  rocky  barriers  of 
Castle  Connell.  And  then  look  at  the  result  of  these  two  or  three 
years'  labor;  an  exhibition  room  in  Piccadilly  or  King  Street — a 
Private  View  Day  all  to  himself — Sabina  making  her  appearance, 
along  with  the  Wygrams,  about  four  in  the  afternoon — Sabina,  as 
ever,  gracious  and  benignant  and  sniiliug-eyed. 

This  newly  formed  friendship  seemed  to  demand  a  good  deal 
of  reverie;  and  it  is  to  be  observed  that  not  only  did  the  figure 
of  Sabina  loom  large  and  constant  in  these  visions  of  the  future, 
but  also  that  the  society  and  companionship  he  was  arranging  for 
her  was  very  curiously  limited.  In  fact,  there  did  not  appear  to 
be  any  room  for  a  third  or  a  fourth  person.  The  Wygrams,  of 
course,  did  not  count;  they  might  be  regarded  merely  as  attend- 
ants upon  Sabina;  while  as  for  any  one  else,  there  was  no  one 
else.  Sabina  and  he  were  to  be  friends ;  the  outer  world — espe- 
cially the  male  creatures  of  the  outer  world — might  surround  that 
distinctly  limited  circle  if  thoy  chose — at  a  little  distance.  Now, 
friendship  is  not  ordinarily  so  exclusive.  But  perhaps  this  was  a 
new  kind. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  very  late  for  dinner,  Nora,  acushla,"  said  lie, 
as  he  got  back  to  the  inn  an  hour  and  a  half  after  the  proper 
time. 

"Oh,  well,  sir,"  said  Nora,  good-naturedly,  "  we  expect  the  gen- 
tlemen to  come  in  at  anny  time.     If  it's  bad  luck  they're  having 


12  SABINA    ZEMBKA. 

with  tlie  fishino^,  tliey  come  home,  and  if  it's  good  luck  they  stay 
out.     I  sent  you  down  your  letters,  sir." 

"Thank  you  kindly,"  said  he. 

"I  hope  there  was  good  news  in  them,  sir,"  said  Nora,  as  she 
was  giving  the  last  touch  to  the  turf  fire. 

"  Indeed  there  was,"  he  rejoined. 

"  Well,  it's  glad  I  am  of  that,  sir,"  said  Nora,  who  had  been 
forming  her  little  guesses,  "for  sometimes  a  letter  has  a  dale  to 
say." 

"  I'm  going  back  to  England  on  Monday." 

"  Are  ye,  now,  sir  ?  Well,  that's  a  pity,  to  be  sure  ! — and  Tim 
O'Connor  declaring  the  weather  was  going  to  be  splendid  for  the 
fishing." 

"Yes,  I  must  be  off;  but  some  day  or  another  I'll  be  coming 
back.     No  fear  about  that ;  you're  too  good  to  rac  over  here." 

"And  the  next  time  you  come,  sir,"  said  Nora,  in  her  demure 
way,  as  she  was  leaving  the  room,  "  sure  I  hope  ye'U  not  be  com- 
ing alone." 

There  w-as  no  particular  need  that  he  should  go  back  on  Mon- 
day ;  but  he  knew  that  the  art  world  of  London  was  now  enter- 
ing upon  its  annual  period  of  excitement;  the  studios  would  all 
be  a- murmuring,  and  the  air  surcharged  with  stories  of  rejec- 
tions, and  rage  at  the  hanging,  and  wonder  at  the  good-luck  of 
some  folks  in  selling  their  pictures.  Of  course,  he  was  interested 
in  such  things ;  and  it  was  natural  he  should  return  to  London 
at  such  a  time.  As  for  any  other  reason,  or  subtle  hope,  or 
fascination  ? — no,  he  answered  himself,  there  was  none.  He  was 
quite  heart-whole  now.  Those  weeks  of  hard  work  and  hard  ex- 
ercise and  wholesome  air  on  the  shores  of  the  Shannon  had  cured 
him  of  that  hateful  and  febrile  sadness  that  had  made  his  life  in 
London  unendurable.  He  was  going  back  to  assiduous  and  hap- 
py labors  in  his  studio ;  and  if  by  chance  he  were  to  meet  Sabina 
in  the  street — down  by  Kensington  Square,  it  might  be,  or  Hyde 
Park  Gate,  or  Cromwell  Gardens — he  would  be  able  to  take  her 
hand  without  a  tremor,  and  she  should  find  nothing  but  friend- 
ship— placid  and  assured  and  abiding — in  his  eyes. 


BT  THE    SEA.  73 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BY  THE  SEA. 

But,  in  the  mean  time,  Mrs.  Wygram  had  fallen  ill  in  a  vagne 
kind  of  way  ;  lassitude,  loss  of  appetite,  and  melancholy  were  the 
chief  symptoms;  and  Sahina,  taking  the  matter  in  liand  in  her 
rapid  and  practical  fashion,  had  no  difficulty  in  making  a  diag- 
nosis of  the  case.  The  ailment  she  declared  to  be  Kensington 
Square;  and  the  obvious  cure — Brighton. 

"  Janie,"  she  said,  "I  will  run  down  with  your  mother  and  see 
her  put  comfortably  in  a  lodging,  and  stay  with  her  as  long  as  I 
can.  Then  you  will  look  after  my  people  from  time  to  time; 
and  if  I'm  wanted,  it's  merely  a  sixpenny  telegram  and  I'm  in 
London  in  an  hour  and  a  quarter.  Even  if  I  have  to  come  up 
now  and  again,  your  mother  won't  feel  very  lonely  when  she 
knows  I  am  coming  back  in  the  evening." 

"  But  why  to  Brighton,  Sabie  ?"  said  Janie,  with  a  sudden  and 
jealous  alarm. 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  reason — because  it  is  so  handy,"  was  the  an- 
swer. 

"  Is  Mr.  Foster  there  ?" 

Sabina's  face  brightened. 

"Yes.  Poor  fellow,  it  will  be  quite  a  pleasure  to  see  him,  and 
try  to  cheer  him  up  a  bit.  He  is  so  good-natured,  you  know, 
Janie.  When  one  looks  back  on  tliat  unhappy  accident,  it  is 
with  a  good  deal  of  remorse,  and  it  isn't  pleasant;  but  the  mo- 
ment you  see  him  he  tries  to  make  light  of  it,  and  to  put  you  at 
your  ease,  and  then  you  are  glad  that  he  takes  it  so  courageously. 
And  just  think  what  it  must  be  to  one  who  has  led  so  active  and 
stirring  a  life — to  be  chained  down  like  that.  Why,  it's  dread- 
ful to  think  of  !  People  who  are  walking  about,  and  going  where 
they  like,  can't  even  imagine  what  that  is.  Then  the  want  of 
society — the  dull  evenings — the  wet  days  when  lie  is  alone  and 
in-doors — do  you  wonder  that  I  should  be  sorry  for  him,  and  feel 
sometimes  a  little  miserable  about  it  all  ?" 

"For  my  part,"  said  Janie,  somewhat  coldly,  "  I  don't  sec  why 
4 


74  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

you  should  feel  miserable  about  it  in  any  way  whatever;  an  ac- 
cident may  happen  to  any  one.  And  I  can't  understand  a  bit 
the  interest  you  take  in  him.  Why,  Sabie,  he  is  the  last  man  in 
the  world  I  should  have  expected  you  to  make  friends  with :  a 
man  who  seems  to  have  no  aim  in  life  but  to  amuse  himself." 

"But  you  know,  Janie,  there  are  many  people  who  don't  even 
succeed  in  doing  that,"  said  Sabina,  in  her  gentle  way.  These 
two  were  not  in  the  habit  of  quarrelling. 

The  end  of  it  was  that  Sabina  took  Mrs.  Wygrara  down  to 
Brighton,  and  got  rooms  for  them  both  in  a  house  in  Regency 
Square. 

"  I  shall  be  such  a  dull  companion  for  you,  Sabie,"  the  old 
lady  said.     "Don't  you  know  any  young  people  here?" 

"I  don't  know  a  soul  in  the  place,"  Sabina  answered,  "except 
Mr.  Foster,  and  he  is  another  invalid.  Fancy  what  a  business  I 
shall  have  in  talking  you  both  into  something  like  light-hearted- 
ncss.  But  how  am  I  to  see  him  ?  I  want  to  see  him  ;  and  I 
know  where  he  is  living — in  the  crescent  where  the  Grand  Hotel 
is.  But  I  suppose  we  could  hardly  call  on  him,  could  we,  or  send 
him  a  message  that  we  are  here?" 

"He  is  rather  a  stranger,  isn't  he?"  said  Mrs.  Wygram,  doubt- 
fully. 

"A  stranger?  Not  a  bit  of  it!  You  don't  keep  talking  to 
any  one  day  after  day  without  getting  to  understand  him  pretty 
well ;  and  I  seem  to  have  known  Mr.  Foster  all  my  life ;  I  have 
heard  all  about  his  school-days,  and  his  home,  and  his  people,  and 
his  pursuits.  I  assure  you,  there  is  an  amount  of  frank  egotism 
about  him  that  is  quite  charming;  and  you  know  you  should  al- 
ways encourage  people  to  talk  about  themselves — it's  the  subject 
that  interests  them  most." 

"  You  have  such  a  wonderful  patience,  Sabie,  with  old  people 
and  with  young,"  said  Mrs.  Wygram,  who  had  some  acquaintance 
with  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  but  that  is  just  the  way  I  take  of  amusing  myself,"  said 
Sabina,  lightly,  "just  as  other  people  take  to  whist,  or  billiards, 
or  horse-racing.  Now  tell  me  what  is  to  be  done.  If  yon  knew 
Mr.  Foster  you  could  write  and  ask  him  to  call — if  the  Bath-chair 
can  be  got  into  the  house.  But  you  don't  know  him.  Well, 
suppose  I  were  to  send  him  a  note  like  this:  'Young  man,  I'm 
old  enough  to  be  your  mother ;  so  don't  be  ofiended  if  I  ask  you 


BY   THE    SEA,  75 

to  come  along  and  hnve  a  cup  of  tea  with  Mrs.  Wygram  and 
myself.' " 

"  You  old  enough  to  be  bis  motber,  indeed  1"  Mrs.  Wygram 
cried.     "  How  old  is  be,  tben?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Sabina  said,  carelessly.  "  But  tell  me 
what  we  should  do  now.  Or  shall  we  go  out  for  a  little  walk 
first,  and  decide  so  weighty  a  matter  afterwards?" 

And  as  it  turned  out,  the  matter  was  decided  for  them,  and 
that  forthwith  and  in  the  simplest  way.  When  they  went  out 
they  naturally  strolled  down  towards  the  pier;  for  the  band  was 
playing,  and  the  wide  promenade  seemed  a  cheerful  kind  of  place ; 
and  about  the  very  first  person  they  saw  there  was  Mr.  Foster 
himself,  whose  chair  was  being  slowly  pulled  along.  His  quick, 
clear  eyes  smiled  a  recognition  at  once;  Sabina,  in  the  frankest 
and  friendliest  way,  went  up  and  shook  hands  with  him,  and  in- 
troduced him  to  Mrs.  Wygram ;  and  there  they  remained,  chat- 
ting, asking  questions,  and  apparently  very  well  pleased  to  have 
met  once  more. 

But  Mrs.  Wygram  was  not  so  well  pleased.  She  had  heard  a 
good  deal  about  Mr.  Foster  from  Janie;  and  perhaps  she  had  un- 
consciously imbibed  a  little  of  the  jealousy  with  which  Janie  re- 
garded the  young  gentleman.  Anyhow,  she  was  distinctly  of 
opinion — as  she  remained  a  trifling  space  apart,  and  only  half 
listened  to  their  conversation  —  that  the  manner  of  Mr.  Foster 
towards  Sabina  was  not  right.  It  was  a  great  deal  too  easy  and 
familiar.  Her  beautiful  Sabic,  she  considered,  ought  to  be  re- 
garded with  a  respectful  adoration — especially  by  young  men ; 
wliereas  this  person  in  the  Bath-cliair  looked  at  Sabina,  and  spoke 
to  her,  just  as  if  she  might  have  been  anybody.  In  truth,  Sabina 
appeared  to  be  a  good  deal  more  pleased  by  this  chance  meeting 
than  he  was;  she  was  interested,  animated,  smiling,  and  friendly  ; 
while  he  glanced  at  her  in  a  critical  kind  of  way,  and  seemed  in 
nowise  sufficiently  grateful  for  her  condescension. 

"Well,  did  you  do  as  I  told  you?"  he  said.  "Did  you  'go 
nap  '  on  Clierry  Blossom  for  the  Grand  National  ?" 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  she  answered.     "  But  I  hope  you  won." 

"Oh,  I  don't  call  it  winning;  I  call  it  getting  back  a  little  of 
my  stolen  property.  And  I  did  pretty  well  on  the  City  and  Sub- 
urban too,"  he  added,  cheerfully. 

"But,"  she  said,  "  perha{).s  I  ought  not  to  congratulate  you  on 


76  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

winning;  for,  of  course,  that  means  that  some  one  must  have 
lost." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  sorry  when  the  *  bookies '  get  cauglit ; 
they  make  a  good  enough  thing  of  it  in  the  end  —  be  sure  of 
that." 

"But  some  one  must  lose,"  said  this  patient  disciple  —  and 
strange  it  was  to  Mrs.  Wygram  to  hear  Sabie  talk  about  horse- 
racing. 

"  Why,  yes.  The  great  bulk  of  the  public  lose,  and  must  lose ; 
and  why  shouldn't  they  lose?  They  bet  for  fun,  whether  they 
know  anything  about  the  horses  or  not.  Well,  if  you  want  your 
amusement,  you've  got  to  pay  for  it;  and  if  your  amusement  is 
backing  horses,  you've  got  to  pay  for  that  too.  You  see,  it  isn't 
every  one  who  can  keep  a  yacht  or  a  pack  of  hounds;  but  every 
one  can  back  a  horse — thanks  to  the  noble  swells  who  provide 
the  animals.  I  consider  it  very  disinterested  on  their  part ;  it 
isn't  many  of  them  who  have  made  money  over  it.  I  know  a 
good  number  of  gallant  sportsmen  who  have  a  fine  display  of 
gold  cups  on  their  dining-room  sideboards,  but  who  don't  quite 
like  to  be  asked  how  much  they  cost." 

"  But  still,  to  encourage  general  gambling  in  that  way — "  Sa- 
bina  was  going  to  protest,  but  he  interrupted  her  with  a  laugh. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know,  Miss  Zembra.  It's  very  wicked  and  bad, 
and  the  grocer's  apprentice  who  filches  from  his  master's  till  in 
order  to  back  a  favorite  will  no  doubt  come  to  the  gallows ;  and 
it's  very  sad  that  people  will  go  on  risking  their  money  on  games 
of  chance;  but  then,  such  is  life." 

"We  might  try  to  make  life  a  little  better  than  we  find  it," 
she  said,  tentatively.  Somehow  he  had  not  the  air  of  one  who 
would  listen  to  words  of  wisdom. 

He  looked  at  her  and  said,  gravely, 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something.  Don't  you  forget  it.  If 
you  can  get  anybody  to  give  you  ten  to  one  against  Macedon  for 
the  Two  Thousand,  just  you  take  it — and  you'll  remember  me 
with  tears  of  gratitude." 

"You  are  incorrigible,"  she  said;  but  she  said  it  with  a  smile; 
for  there  was  far  more  of  good-humor  than  of  argument  in  her 
composition,  and  she  was  pleased  to  find  him  so  confident  and 
self-reliant,  and  in  such  good  spirits. 

They  went  out  to  the  farther  end  of  the  pier,  which  he  said 


BY    THE    SEA.  77 

was  his  favorite  retreat;  for  there,  while  he  could  command  au 
uninterrupted  view  of  the  coast  line  all  the  way  from  Worthing 
Point  out  to  the  successive  chalk  headlands  of  Seaford  and  the 
Seven  Sisters,  the  music  near  at  hand  was  softened  to  the  ear  by 
the  intervention  of  the  glass  screen.  He  could  either  listen  to 
the  band  or  read  the  morning  newspaper  and  its  guesses  about 
the  forth-coming  race-meetings,  or  overlook  the  small  boats  row- 
ing below,  or  watch  here  and  there  a  big  steamer  leaving  an  al- 
most stationary  trail  of  smoke  along  the  far  horizon.  And  this 
particular  morning,  as  it  happened,  was  exceedingly  bright  and 
cheerful,  a  light  west  wind  blowing,  the  clear  green  water  glanc- 
ing in  a  myriad  of  diamonds  of  sunlight  along  each  shimmering 
ripple ;  here  and  there  soft  purple  patches  telling  of  the  shadow 
of  a  cloud ;  overhead  a  quite  summer-like  sky.  Then  there  was 
much  liveliness  abroad:  the  last-delayed  of  the  fishing -smacks 
coming  in  from  the  south-east ;  the  heavy-booted  crews  making 
their  way  home  to  bed ;  the  salesmen  and  packers  getting  off  the 
boxes  and  barrels  of  mackerel  and  conger  to  the  London  market; 
holiday  folks  down  on  the  shingle ;  children  paddling  where  the 
sand  showed  at  low  tide ;  the  boatmen  and  photographers  and 
newsboys  busy — a  traffic  brisker  than  usual  for  that  time  of  the 
year  visible  in  the  King's  Road. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  continued,  as  Sabina  stood  by  the  side  of  the 
Bath-chair,  or  leaned  over  the  rails  to  watch  the  manoeuvring  of  a 
small  sailing-boat  below,  "  this  is  an  excellent  place :  there  is  al- 
ways something  going  on,  something  to  look  at.  I  know  all  the 
girls — I  mean  by  head-mark.  It's  quite  nice  to  see  the  young 
things  trying  to  make  believe  that  it  is  summer  already  with  their 
pretty  bonnets  and  dresses.  And  you,  Miss  Zembra,"  he  added, 
with  no  embarrassment  at  all,  "  aren't  you  going  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  sea-side?  You  know  people  allow  themselves  a  little 
liberty  when  they  come  here — in  the  way  of  cosUnne,  I  mean. 
Pray,  don't  think  me  rude,  but  I  should  fancy,  now,  that  a  sailor's 
hat — a  straw  hat,  you  know,  with  a  band  of  red  silk,  or  some- 
thing of  that  kind — would  become  you  very  well,  and  be  a  little 
brighter  for  the  sea-side.     Don't  you  ?" 

The  suggestion  was  no  doubt  made  in  simple  friendliness,  but 
Mrs.  Wygram  did  not  like  it. 

"  If  you  would  care  to  see  the  prettiest  dress  Miss  Zembra  ever 
wore — to  my  thinking — I  can  show  it  to  you." 


78  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

She  took  from  her  pocket  an  envelope,  and  from  the  envelope 
a  photograph.  It  was  a  pliotograph  of  Sabiiia  in  her  hospital 
costume — a  plain  striped  gown,  a  white  cap  and  apron — the  apron 
furnished  with  shoulder-straps,  her  nurse's  implements  slung  by  a 
silver  chain  from  her  girdle,  a  silver  brooch — an  anchor — at  her 
neck.  He  glanced  at  the  photograph  and  handed  it  back  with 
a  laugh. 

"  I  did  not  think  they  would  have  allowed  you  to  wear  any 
ornament,"  he  said,  still  addressing  Sabina,  "  but  I  see  you  wore 
the  same  brooch  you  are  wearing  now." 

"And  you  would  not  easily  get  Miss  Zembra  to  part  with  that 
brooch,"  said  the  little  old  lady,  proudly.  "  It  was  given  her  by 
some  of  the  boys  on  board  the  Chichester  —  they  subscribed 
among  themselves — and  that  was  what  they  sent  her.  At  least," 
continued  Mrs.  Wygram  (for  she  was  determined  that  Mr.  Foster 
should  know  there  were  other  people  who  could  appreciate  Sabina, 
if  he  seemed  so  careless  and  indifferent) — "  at  least  that  was  the 
story,  and  perhaps  it  is  partly  true.  But  I  have  my  suspicions. 
I  know  that  the  only  time  I  ever  went  down  to  see  the  Chichester 
there  was  a  young  officer  there  who  went  round  the  ship  with  us, 
and  I  noticed  that  he  was  particularly  attentive  to  a  young  lady 
— I  wouldn't  mention  names  for  the  world.  An<l  when  he  spoke 
of  this  subscription  I  guessed  who  would  help  in  that.  Boys  in 
training-ships  don't  have  many  pence,  I  should  think.  Oh  yes, 
and  the  letter  he  sent!  I  shouldn't  have  expected  lads  like  that 
to  use  such  beautiful  English — " 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Wygram,  don't  you  say  anything  against  my 
boys,"  Sabina  said,  but  she  had  turned  away  partly — perhaps  to 
get  a  better  view  of  that  little  sailing-boat. 

They  chatted  and  looked  around  them  until  lunch-time,  and 
then  they  made  for  home^the  two  ladies  accompanying  the  Bath- 
chair  as  far  as  the  turnstile  of  the  pier. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  and  raised  his  hat  slightly. 

But  Sabina  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"  Shall  you  be  out  again  in  the  afternoon  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Well,  no,"  he  answered.  "  I  was  thinking  of  looking  in  at 
the  tennis-court." 

"  What,  on  a  day  like  this?"  she  exclaimed.  "Surely  that  is 
unwise  on  the  part  of  an  invalid." 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  look  on  myself  as  an  invalid  at  all,"  he  said. 


BY    THE    SEA.  79 

"I  am  an  expectant — a  tied-waiter — a  tied-vfaiter,  yon  see!  An 
excellent  joke  !     Well,  good-morning  !" 

"  If  you  will  come  along  at  five  o'clock,  we  will  give  you  a  cup 
of  tea,"  she  said. 

"Thanks,  awfully  —  but  a  Bath-chair  is  such  a  nuisance  in  a 
room — " 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  she  interposed,  with  a  touch  of  appeal 
in  her  tone. 

"  Well,  I  will,  if  I  may;  what  is  your  number  in  the  square?" 
and  then,  when  he  had  got  that  information,  they  went  their 
several  ways. 

During  lunch  Sabina  talked  of  nothing  but  Mr.  Foster,  and  of 
bis  wonderful  courage  and  equanimity  under  this  heavy  trial. 

"  You  don't  know  how  grateful  I  am  to  him,"  she  said,  "  when 
I  see  liim  so  light-hearted.  If  he  were  to  fret  and  pine  over  it,  as 
many  another  man  would,  just  think  how  miserable  I  should  feel." 

"  So  you've  said  a  hundred  times,  Sabie,"  Mrs.  Wygram  an- 
swered, patiently,  "  and  so  you've  said  to  Janie;  but  if  you  were 
to  talk  from  now  to  Doomsday,  you  wouldn't  convince  me  that 
you  ought  to  hold  yourself  responsible  for  tliat  accident." 

"  Why  was  I  such  a  fool  as  to  call  out,  then  ?"  was  the  imme- 
diate rejoinder.  "  I  don't  believe  he  would  have  harmed  the  dog 
at  all.  And  I  am  quite  certain  he  wouldn't  have  gone  near  the 
heap  of  gravel." 

Mrs.  Wygram  did  not  choose  to  argue ;  but  somehow  she  was 
not  well  disposed  to  Mr.  Fostei-. 

"You  may  be  as  grateful  as  you  please,"  she  said  to  Sabina; 
"I  should  have  liked  to  hear  of  his  being  a  little  grateful  on  his 
side  for  all  the  kindness  and  attention  he  received." 

"  Ah,  don't  be  so  hard  on  the  poor  fellow,  dear  Mrs.  Wygram," 
said  Sabina.  "  How  would  you  like  it  if  you  were  shut  up  in  a 
Bath-chair  like  that?" 

"How  should  I  like  it?"  Mrs.  Wygram  retorted,  with  a  trifle 
of  indignation  in  her  voice.  "  Well,  I  know  this :  if  I  were  in  a 
Bath-chair,  and  if  I  were  a  man,  and  a  young  lady  came  of  her 
own  accord  to  pay  me  a  good  deal  of  attention,  and  to  be  very 
friendly  and  courteous  and  obliging,  I  think  I  should  do  or  say 
something  to  show  that  I  recognized  how  kind  she  was  trying  to 
be.  I  should  not  show  myself  an  indifferent  boor.  Why,  a 
man — " 


80  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

*'  Now,  now,  dear  Mrs.  Wygram,  please  to  stop,"  said  Sabina ; 
but  she  was  not  very  angry.  "  You  don't  know  what  you're  say- 
ing. And  besides,  that  is  why  I  like  Mr.  Foster;  he  is  honest, 
and  does  not  pretend  to  be  more  interested  in  you  than  he  really 
feels." 

After  lunch  Mrs.  Wygram  was  ordered  by  her  imperious  nurse 
to  go  away  and  lie  down  for  a  while ;  and  then,  about  half-past 
three,  Sabina  came  for  her. 

"  The  people  are  coming  out,"  she  said.  "  Shall  we  go  for  a 
little  stroll  ?     I  want  to  see  the  fashions." 

And  then  she  said, 

"  Really,  the  clear  light  here  is  dreadful  for  showing  you  how 
shabby  your  clothes  are.  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  disgrace- 
ful as  this  bonnet  of  mine?" 

She  was  holding  it  up  to  the  window.     Then  she  said, 

"Yes,  we  will  go  along  to  the  shops;  and  you  know  we  ought 
to  join  in  with  the  others  and  make  believe  that  summer  is  come 
already  ;  and  I  am  going  to  get  you  a  new  bonnet — no,  no,  now, 
you  needn't  protest,  for  I  always  have  my  own  way  in  the  end — 
yes,  I  am  going  to  get  you  a  bonnet  of  a  lighter  color,  with  a  lit- 
tle frivolity  in  it,  for  of  course  when  we  are  at  the  sea-side  we 
must  follow  the  sea-side  fashions." 

And  then  again  she  said, 

"  I  wonder,  now,  if  I  am  too  old  and  grave  a  person  to  wear  a 
sailor's  hat?" 

"  You  too  old,  Sabie  ?  Oh  yes,  indeed  !  You  look  so  old  !" 
was  Mrs.  Wygram's  answer. 

But  when  they  had  got  outside,  and  were  going  along  the  King's 
Road,  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to  Sabina's  companion. 

"  Sabie,"  she  said,  "  what  put  the  notion  of  getting  a  sailor's 
hat  into  your  head?     Was  it  Mr.  Foster's  suggestion  ?" 

"And  supposing  it  was?"  the  tall,  bland-featured  girl  answered, 
in  her  good-natured  way. 

"But  do  you  know  what  you  are  doing?"  Mrs. Wygram  said, 
half  angrily.  "  It  is  not  the  custom  for  young  gentlemen  to  ad- 
vise young  ladies  as  to  what  they  should  wear." 

"Oh,  nonsense! — a  chance  hint  of  that  kind? — I  should  have 
taken  it  from  anybody.  And  besides,"  Sabina  added,  "  what  do 
you  mean  by  young  ladies  and  young  gentlemen  ?  I  tell  you  I  am 
old  enouo-h  to  be  his  mother." 


BY   THE    SEA,  81 

"  Oh  yes,  very  old !"  Mrs.  Wygram  replied,  with  a  fine  irony. 
"And  very  plain,  too — remarkably  plain.  I  suppose  you  didn't  no- 
tice how  the  people  were  looking  at  yon  out  at  the  end  of  the  pier? 
I  did,  if  you  didn't;  and  to  nie  it  didn't  seem  the  best  of  manners. 
And  you'll  put  a  band  of  red  silk  round  the  hat  as  he  directed 
you  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  will  do  that,"  Sabina  answered.  "  I  will 
get  a  band  of  cream-colored  satin,  I  think ;  or  of  the  color  of  this 
dress,  if  I  can." 

"  And  you  will  be  wearing  that  hat  when  he  comes  along  this 
afternoon  ?" 

"  Well,  no ;  for  I  don't  wear  a  hat  in-doors." 

"But  it  will  be  lying  about?" 

"  It  may.  But,  dear  Mrs.  Wygram,  what  do  you  mean  ?  A 
trifle  of  this  kind!  And  Janie  isn't  here;  you  know  it  is  Janie 
who  generally  chooses  my  things  for  me." 

That  evening  Mrs.  Wygram  had  to  write  to  her  daughter;  and 
this  was  the  postscript  of  the  letter : 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  or  think  about  Sabie.  Of  course 
she  is  goodness  itself  to  me ;  that  she  is  always ;  and  never  was 
she  more  kind  and  considerate  and  affectionate.  And  you  know 
how  I  love  the  girl.  But  she  puzzles  me.  For  either  she  carries 
good-nature  to  the  verge  of  folly — and  over  it — or  else  she  is  the 
raost  abominable  flirt  that  ever  breathed." 

This  set  Janie  a-crying;  and  she  answered  in  hot  haste  : 

"  Mother,  I  beg  you  will  not  say  such  things  about  Sabie.  It's 
very  little  you  know  about  her  if  you  can  think  thus  for  a  mo- 
ment. But  I  see  how  it  is,  and  understand.it  perfectly;  you  do 
love  her;  and  you  are  jealous ;  and  I  knew  that  would  be  so  the 
moment  you  saw  how  interested  she  is  in  Mr.  Foster.  I  hope  it 
won't  be  a  misery  to  all  of  us.  What  should  we  do,  mother,  if 
anything  happened  to  our  Sabie?" 
4* 


82  SABLSTA  ZKMBKA. 


CHAPTER   X. 
AT  THE  ACADEMY. 

The  tender  heart  of  Janie  was  to  be  still  further  distracted. 
Sabina  refused  to  go  up  to  town  for  the  Private  View  of  the 
Academy. 

"I  cau't  leave  my  charge,"  she  wrote,  "just  when  it  is  most 
necessary  that  she  should  be  driven  about,  and  walked  about,  and 
generally  looked  after." 

Janie, in  great  distress,  forthwith  appealed  to  her  mother: 

"  She  must  come,  mother.  It  is  a  promise.  I  pledged  my 
word  to  Walter  Lindsay  that  she  should  go  with  us.  Surely  it 
cannot  be  that  she  is  so  fascinated  by  that  contemptible  horse- 
jockey  that  she  is  going  to  disappoint  us  all  in  this  way  ?  Of 
course,  don't  repeat  what  I  liave  just  said,  or  she  will  think  it 
necessary  to  defend  him,  and  I  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  her 
about  anybody  like  that.  But  appeal  to  the  real  Sabie — to  our 
Sabie.  Does  she  know  how  Mr.  Lindsay  has  set  his  heart  on 
taking  her  to  the  Academy  ?  And  Mrs.  Tremenheere  has  prom- 
ised to  go  with  us  in  your  place ;  and  then,  if  Sabie  comes  up  on 
the  Thursday  night  she  can  go  down  to  you  again  on  the  follow- 
ing afternoon  or  evening.  The  truth  is,  I  have  not  dared  to 
speak  of  it  to  Mr,  Lindsay ;  I  could  not  do  it — I  tell  you  he  has 
just  set  his  heart  on  it — and  it's  for  you,  now,  dearest  mother,  to 
try  to  bring  that  abominable  wretch  to  her  senses." 

There  was  not  the  slightest  difficulty  about  it.  When  it  was 
pointed  out  to  Sabina  that  her  refusal  to  go  would  give  a  great 
deal  of  pain  to  two  of  her  friend.,  she  merely  elevated  her  eye- 
brows a  little  in  surprise,  as  if  that  had  never  occurred  to  her  be- 
fore; and  when  Mrs.  ^Yy gram  added  that  she  herself  would  take 
it  as  a  favor  if  Sabie  yielded  to  the  wishes  of  those  kind  people, 
Sabina  instantly  and  good-naturedly  said  yes.  Only  she  stipu- 
lated that  she  should  go  up  on  the  Friday  morning  and  I'eturn 
the  same  evening. 

Walter  Lindsay  never  knew  how  near  he  had  been  to  a  griev- 


AT   THE    ACADEMY.  83 

ous  disappointment ;  he  was  merely  told  (Janie  assumino;  a  little 
air  of  authority  on  the  occasion)  at  what  hour  he  might  expect 
Sabina  to  arrive  at  Burlington  House.  It  is  perhaps  unnecessary 
to  say  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  obtain  the  use  of  any  private 
room  for  their  luncheon,  though  one  distinguished  Academician 
had  facetiously  offered  to  place  the  Diploma  Gallery  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  party.  And  be  sure  he  was  waiting  at  the  top  of 
the  staircase  long  before  the  time  at  which  Mrs,  Tremenheere  and 
Sabina  and  Janie  had  promised  to  appear.  The  people  came 
pouring  in,  elderly  gentlemen  already  opening  their  catalogues 
and  adjusting  their  glasses  ;  gorgeous  matrons  scanning  the  crowd 
in  search  of  friends ;  young  ladies  with  a  quick  eye  for  other 
young  ladies'  gowns;  young  gentlemen  with  a  quick  eye  for 
those  young  ladies'  faces.  And  to  many  of  these  the  tall  and 
pale  young  artist,  wlio  stood  as  close  as  might  be  to  the  wicket, 
was  known,  and  he  had  perfunctorily  to  shake  hands  with  them 
and  say  a  word  or  two,  but  ever  his  anxious  gaze  went  down  that 
wide,  thick -carpeted  stair,  eagerly  scrutinizing  each  successive 
group  as  it  arrived.  And  as  it  chanced,  he  was  caught  napping 
after  all.  A  sculptor  friend  came  to  him  and  touched  him  ou 
the  shoulder. 

"  Lindsay,"  he  said, "  I  want  you  to  come  and  look  at  my  bust 

of  Mrs. ;  have  you  seen  it  yet  ?" 

"No,  I  haven't;  but  I  will  remember;  all  right." 
"Come  along,  now,  won't  you? — a  minute  will  do — the  fact  is, 
they've  all  been  abusing  it  and  pitching  into  it — and  I  want  you 
to  say  it  isn't  so  bad  as  all  that." 

"But  I'm  waiting  for  some  people,  man,"  Lindsay  broke  in, 
not  too  cordially. 

"My  good  fellow,  it  won't  take  you  a  minute  !" 
And  so  he  cast  a  last  despairing  glance  down  the  crowded 
staircase,  and  impatiently  followed  his  friend  into  the  sculpture 
room.  He  was  not  there  more  than  three  minutes.  And  then 
it  was,  as  he  was  hastening  back  to  his  post,  that  he  suddenly 
found  before  him — Sabina!  Other  people  saw  advancing  tow- 
ards him  a  young  lady,  tall  ami  fair  and  smiling;  he  only  saw  a 
face,  a  kind  of  bewilderment  of  light  shining  there  and  in  her 
eyes ;  and  if  his  heart  seemed  to  choke  him  somewhat  (in  a  man- 
ner not  quite  consistent  with  the  new  friendship  he  had  estab- 
lished), he  had  scarcely  time  to  attend  to  that.     Perhaps  he  shook 


84  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

hands  with  her — he  did  not  know  ;  probably  he  also  greeted  Mrs, 
Tremenheere  and  Janie ;  at  all  events,  he  seemed  to  want  to  take 
them  through  all  the  rooms  at  once,  and  yet  not  to  know  where 
to  begin,  while  the  fingers  that  held  the  open  catalogue  were  far 
from  being  so  steady  as  the  new  friendship  demanded.  As  for 
Sabina,  she  was  certainly  not  perturbed.  Nor  did  she  seem  par- 
ticularly anxious  to  see  the  pictures.  She  looked  at  the  crowd 
in  her  gentle,  bland,  pleased  way,  recognizing  here  and  there  a 
familiar  face,  and  perhaps  not  paying  as  much  attention  to  her 
eager  guide  as  she  ought  to  have  done.  However,  she  eventually 
yielded  to  his  solicitation,  and  they  began  their  laborious  round. 
He  made  it  as  easy  as  possible  for  her — if  Mrs.  Tremenheere  and 
Janie  had  pretty  well  to  look  out  for  themselves.  He  took  her 
to  all  the  principal  pictures.  If  any  one  stopped  her  and  spoke 
to  her,  he  made  no  scruple  about  dragging  her  away,  and  insist- 
ing upon  her  looking  at  this  or  that.  And  Sabina  was  very  kind 
to  him,  for  she  knew  he  was  giving  himself  a  great  deal  of  trou- 
ble on  her  behalf;  and  the  new  relationship  he  had  established 
between  himself  and  her  seemed  to  him  a  distinctly  joyous  thing 
— sending,  as  it  were,  flashes  of  gladness  through  his  veins  every 
time  she  turned  towards  him,  or  spoke  to  him,  or  happened  to 
let  the  sleeve  of  her  bronze  plush  cloak  come  near  his  arm.  It 
was  a  very  pretty  costume,  by-the-way,  that  she  wore,  though  it 
was  not  the  simple  brown  homespun  of  his  expectation ;  and  he 
could  see  that  it  was  admired — and  that  Sabina  was  admired — 
by  the  little  covert  glances  that  both  men  and  women  directed 
towards  her  as  they  passed.  And  of  course  he  perjured  his  soul 
a  hundred  times  in  quickly  assenting  to  everything  she  said. 
Why  should  he  dispute  her  judgment?  What  was  his  miserable 
cut-and-dried  knowledge  of  technique  as  compared  with  the  gen- 
erous appreciation  of  a  fresh  young  soul  ?  Could  he  check  kind- 
ness? Would  he  like  her  eyes  to  be  less  benignant?  Wliere  her 
abundant  good-nature  saw  merit,  wliat  right  had  he  to  search  out 
defects  ?  In  short,  what  mattered  the  pictures  to  him  in  any  way 
whatever?  He  would  have  made  a  holocaust  of  the  whole  collec- 
tion had  it  belonged  to  him,  if  only  Sabina  would  have  been  in- 
terested in  the  riotous  blaze.  And  all  this,  it  must  be  remem- 
bered, was  but  part  of  the  new  friendship. 

"  And  where  is  your  own  picture,  Mr.  Lindsay  ?"  Sabina  said  to 
him. 


AT   THE    ACADEMY.  85 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing,"  he  answered. 

"  Bat  I  wish  to  see  it,"  she  said. 

"lleally,  it  is  not  worth  looking  at,"  he  protested.  "It  is  a 
little  thing  I  sent  in  merely  to  get  a  ticket  for  Varnishing  Day." 

"  ]>iit  I  wish  to  see  it,"  she  said,  with  mild  persistence. 

"The  water-color  room  is  at  the  other  end,"  he  pointed  out; 
for  he  did  not  wish  Sabina  to  take  this  luckless  little  contribu- 
tion as  in  any  way  representative  of  his  work. 

"Then  you  won't  take  me  to  see  it?" 

Of  course,  this  was  a  command,  and  forthwith  they  set  about 
making  their  way  through  the  now  crowded  rooms.  And  scant, 
indeed,  was  the  recognition  his  friends  obtained  from  him  on  that 
busy  morning,  for  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  a  hundred  thousand 
things  he  liad  to  say  to  Sabina ;  and  that  the  time  was  all  too 
short.  And  then  was  it  not  his  duty  to  keep  her  amused  and 
interested  and  pleased?  He  was  her  host,  in  a  measure;  he  was 
responsible  for  her  being  entertained ;  he  would  have  ample  op- 
portunities of  talking  with  all  those  various  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances after  Sabina  had  gone  away  once  more  from  London. 

"  Why,  you  seem  to  know  every  one,"  she  said  to  him,  as  they 
were  making  their  slow  progress  through  the  galleries. 

And  yet  he  had  no  wish  to  show  her  oflE — to  proclaim  their 
friendship,  that  is  to  say,  before  all  these  people.  Far  rather 
would  he  have  had  her  go  away  into  some  quiet  corner — into  the 
room  for  architectural  drawings,  for  example — and  sit  down  there, 
so  that  he  might  recollect  some  of  the  hundred  thousand  things 
he  had  to  tell  her.  He  was  not  in  any  way  anxious  that  these 
good  folk  should  admire  Sabina,  or  look  at  her  pretty  dress,  or 
be  struck  by  the  proud  and  gracious  set  of  her  neck  and  shoul- 
ders, and  the  sweetness  of  her  smile.  He  was  far  more  anxious 
that  she  should  not  become  tired,  or  indifferent,  or  bored ;  and 
the  hundred  thousand  things  he  had  to  tell  her  seemed  to  narrow 
themselves  down  in  a  dreadful  way,  or  refused  to  be  summoned 
altogether;  so  that  he  could  only  say  to  himself,  "Well,  I  am  a 
blatant  idiot;  but  Sabina  is  so  good-natured  that  she  pretends  to 
be  pleased."     The  new  friendship  was  progressing. 

Eventually  they  found  the  little  picture ;  it  was  a  harmless 
kind  of  thing — merely  a  study  of  a  black  windmill  and  an  up- 
lying  field,  golden  with  charlock,  against  an  almost  silver-white 
sky  ;  and  when  Sabina,  out  of  kindness,  would  praise  it,  he  rather 


86  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

resented  her  approval,  for  he  did  not  wish  her  to  imagine  that 
was  how  he  always  painted. 

"  But  you  need  not  think  that,"  she  said.  "  I  have  seen  so 
much  of  your  work.  And  I  am  sure  I  did  not  half  thank  you 
for  the  beautiful  drawing  you  sent  me  from  the  Shannon.  I  was 
so  busy  at  the  time.  But  I  prize  it  none  the  less,  I  assure  you ; 
do  you  know  that  I  took  it  down  to  Brighton,  and  we  have  it 
hung  up  there — of  course,  to  be  brought  away  again  when  we 
leave  ?" 

"Oh,  did  you?"  he  said;  there  was  a  kind  of  music  in  the  air. 

And  then  he  suddenly  discovered  that  it  was  a  quarter  to  one, 
and  therefore  time  fcr  lunch. 

"  Do  come,  now,"  he  said,  "  and  we  will  get  a  quiet  place  to 
ourselves.  I  don't  want  to  have  you  tired  out.  Besides,  you 
must  be  hungry ;  you  left  Brighton  by  the  9.45." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  she  said,  glancing  at  him. 

"You  must  have  left  then ;  I  looked  at  the  time-table." 

And  they  did,  as  it  happened,  get  a  quiet  corner  for  themselves 
in  the  luncheon-room ;  and  whether  it  was  owing  to  some  mys- 
terious subsidy  or  not,  they  appeared  to  be  very  well  attended  to, 
while  people  at  the  other  tables  were  looking  vacuously  about 
them,  or  making  impatient  and  fruitless  appeals  to  over-harassed 
waiters.  Curiously  enough,  too,  Sabina  sate  at  his  right  hand — 
where  Mrs.  Tremenheere  should  have  been ;  but  perhaps  that  was 
an  accident.  And  Janie  was  very  pleased  and  happy ;  and  said, 
in  an  undertone,  to  Mrs.  Tremenheere — for  Mr.  Lindsay  had  a 
good  many  things  to  say  to  Miss  Zembra,  so  that  these  two  were 
occupied — that  never  in  all  her  life  had  she  seen  Sabie  looking 
so  beautiful.  Janie  was  a  kind-hearted  creature,  and  talked  to 
Mrs.  Tremenheere  without  ceasing. 

And  what  did  Lindsay  say,  now  that  she  and  he  were  together 
in  this  secluded  nook,  their  shoulders  almost  touching,  their  heads 
not  far  apart,  he  humbly  solicitous  about  the  smallest  details  of 
the  frugal  little  banquet  he  had  provided  for  her?  Well,  it  was 
all  a  lamentation  over  the  fact  that  no  ladies  could  be  present, 
even  as  lookers-on,  at  the  Academy  dinner  to  which  he  was  in- 
vited the  following  evening. 

"You  see,"  he  continued — and  it  was  all  addressed  to  Sabina 
— "  the  walls  are  covered  to  the  roof  with  pictures — as  many  a 
poor  wretch  knows  to  his  cost;  and  I  suppose  it  would  be  im- 


AT   THE    ACADEMY.  87 

possible  to  have  a  gallery  for  spectators.  But  it  is  a  pity ;  for 
there  is  no  such  sight  to  be  seen  anywhere  else,  or  at  any  other 
time,  in  Great  Britain.  All  England's  greatest  are  there  —  her 
statesmen  and  poets  and  soldiers  and  lawyers  and  painters ;  u 
stranger  would  think  he  had  got  among  a  lot  of  portraits  out  of 
the  illustrated  papers.  It  is  an  extraordinary  assemblage  of  the 
brains  and  wealth  of  the  country.  Yes,"  he  said,  glancing  at 
her,  "  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  asking  yourself  how  I  ever  came 
to  be  in  that  gallery." 

"  Indeed  I  was  not,"  she  said,  warmly. 

"  I  asked  myself  the  question,"  he  continued,  modestly,  "when 
I  looked  round  last  year  and  found  myself  the  only  insignificant 
duffer  at  our  particular  table,  for  I'm  not  even  a  picture-buyer. 
But  I  have  a  good  many  friends  in  the  Academy — I  suppose  that 
is  it." 

"  I  should  rather  think  it  was  meant  as  a  recognition  of  your 
work,"  Sabina  said,  gently,  "and  I  should  be  very  proud  of  it  if 
I  were  you." 

"However,  as  I  was  saying,"  he  interposed,  rather  quickly,  "it 
is  an  extraordinary  sight;  and  then,  you  know,  they  keep  the 
lights  somewhat  lowered  during  dinner  —  though  you  wouldn't 
think  it,  for  the  place  is  so  brilliant — until  the  president  has  pro- 
posed the  toast  of  the  Queen's  health ;  and  then,  when  he  winds 
up  with  'Your  Royal  Highnesses,  my  lords,  and  gentlemen — the 
Queen  !'  all  of  a  sudden  the  lights  are  put  at  full  blaze,  and  the 
effect  is  quite  startling.  You  should  see  them  all  standing  up — 
the  Queen's  ministers,  the  ex-ministers,  judges,  generals,  bishops, 
academicians,  and  all — while  the  singers  at  the  far  end  of  the  hall 
sing  'God  save  the  Queen!'  And  to  think  that  such  an  assem- 
blage is  brought  together  every  year  in  England  ,•  and  that  there 
should  be  no  ladies  to  look  on  !" 

And  why  was  he  so  miserable  because  there  would  be  no  gen- 
tle-eyed spectators  of  the  following  night's  banquet?  At  the  ban- 
quet of  the  previous  year — the  first  to  which  he  had  been  invited 
— the  subject  had  not  even  occurred  to  him. 

"No,"  he  continued,  "nor  do  they  ask  any  women-folk  to  the 
annual  dinner  of  the  Academy  Club  —  at  the  Trafalgar  at  Green- 
wich. But  that  is  less  to  be  wondered  at,  for  it  is  a  kind  of  half- 
private  affair;  and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  jollification  going  on — 
smoking  and  singing  and  speech-making.     Oh,  and  very  pretty  it 


88  SABIXA    ZKMBKA. 

is  at  the  bcjjinning  of  the  evenirifj,  if  you  happen  to  have  a  seat 
facini^  the  big  bay-window,  and  can  watcli  tlic  red-sailed  barges 
floating  down  on  the  yellow  water.  It's  rather  an  early  dinner, 
you  know,  though  they  keep  it  up  late  enough  ;  for  when  they 
get  back  to  town,  a  lot  of  them — tiiose  that  aren't  afraid  of  their 
wives — generally  go  down  to  Mackinnon's  rooms,  in  Buckingham 
Street,  to  have  a  midnight  palaver  and  a  final  pipe  or  two." 

"There  seems  to  be  a  fair  amount  of  merrymaking  in  the  art 
world,"  Sabina  observed. 

"  At  present  there  is,"  he  said,  rather  apologetically,  "  because 
everybody  is  glad  to  have  got  finished  with  his  year's  work.  And 
from  now  on  to  the  Academy  Conversazione,  at  the  end  of  June, 
there  won't  be  much  painting  done  —  among  the  landscapers, 
anyway  —  there  will  be  a  good  deal  of  dining  and  dancing  and 
lawn-tennis,  and  so  on — but  after  the  Conversazione  the  general 
dispersal  will  take  place — away  to  Brittany  and  Spain  and  the 
Riviera ;  or  over  to  Holland,  or  up  to  Norway,  or  to  the  wilds  of 
Connemara  and  Galway — each  man  wanting  to  have  a  place  all 
to  himself,  of  course,  and  growling  if  any  one  comes  near  him." 

"And  where  are  you  going?"  she  asked. 

"  I  ?" 

The  question  seemed  to  startle  him.  Perhaps  he  had  made  no 
definite  plans.  Or  had  some  wild  notion  flashed  into  his  brain 
that  he  would  fain  have  that  depend  on  Sabina's  whereabouts? 

"  I  hardly  know,"  he  stammered.  "  I  suppose  you,  too,  will  be 
going  away  from  London,  Miss  Zembra?" 

He  hardly  looked  up  at  her. 

"I  think  not,"  she  said,  simply,  "  unless  Mrs.  Wygram  improves 
much  more  rapidly  than  she  is  doing  at  present.  I  will  keep  her 
at  Brighton  for  some  time,  and  I  may  as  well  make  that  my  holi- 
day." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  will  be  in  London  all  the  autumn, 
when  everybody  else  will  be  away  ?"  he  asked,  and  he  had  grown 
suddenly  thoughtful. 

"Your  everybody  else  will  be  away,  no  doubt,"  she  answered, 
smiling,  "  but  my  everybody  else  can't  get  away,  unhappily.  Yes; 
if  I  take  a  holiday  now,  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  in  London  through 
the  autumn.  But  isn't  it  time  we  were  returning  to  the  pict- 
ures?" 

And  he  was  not  unwilling  to  take  up  his  task  again  ;  for  he 


AT   THE    ACADEMY.  89 

had  been  forming  certain  dark  designs,  Sabina  was  going  down 
to  Brighton  by  tlie  4.30  express;  Mrs.  Tremenheere  and  Janie 
wanted  to  wait  to  see  the  people  arrive  in  the  afternoon ;  and  it 
was  Janie  who  considerately  suggested  that,  if  Sabina  must  really 
leave,  perhaps  Mr.  Lindsay  would  be  so  kind  as  to  see  her  as  far 
as  Victoria  Station.  Sabina  protested  that  nothing  of  the  sort 
was  necessary.  But  Mr.  Lindsay  took  little  heed  of  the  protest ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  rather  hurried  her  through  the  remaining 
rooms  in  order  that  they  should  get  away  early.  He  was  not  sure 
that  they  would  get  a  cab  easily.  The  streets  might  be  blocked. 
Wasn't  St.  James's  Park  torn  up  as  usual  ?  The  end  of  it  all  was 
that  he  and  she  together  left  the  Academy  when  it  was  barely 
four  o'clock. 

And  to  be  in  a  hansom  with  Sabina — to  be  so  close  to  her — 
to  see  her  gloved  hand  resting  on  the  little  iron  ledge — to  have 
charge  of  her  small  travelling-bag — to  be  able  to  direct  her  atten- 
tion to  this  and  that — to  steal  an  occasional  covert  glance  at  the 
pale  oval  of  her  cheeks  and  her  soft  clear  eyes !  Of  course,  he 
told  the  cabman  to  drive  round  by  Hyde  Park  Corner  and  Gros- 
venor  Place;  and  the  trees  in  the  Green  Park  were  showing  their 
foliage  now ;  and  there  was  a  breezy  light  in  the  May  skies;  and 
the  crowd  in  Piccadilly  and  the  continual  string  of  carriages  made 
up  a  picture  sufficiently  animated  and  cheerful.  The  new  friend- 
ship had  begun  so  delightfully  !  Sabina  was  with  hira,  and  with 
him  alone;  he  had  charge  of  her;  there  was  none  to  interfere. 
And  she  was  to  be  all  by  herself  in  London  through  the  autumn 
— when  still  she  might  want  and  welcome  a  friend. 

And  then,  again,  at  Victoria  Station  a  little  judicious  bribery 
procured  him  access  to  the  platform  ;  and  when  he  had  procured 
for  her  a  seat  in  the  Pullman  car,  and  purchased  for  her  a  vast 
assortment  of  magazines  and  illustrated  papers,  they  had  nearly  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  in  which  to  walk  up  and  down.  Alas  !  that 
the  time  was  so  short — for  he  still  seemed  to  have  a  hundred 
thousand  things  to  say — and  he  wanted  her  to  have  some  tea — 
and  he  was  so  sorry  that  the  sleeve  of  her  plush  cloak  had  been 
somewhat  marked  by  her  driving  in  the  hansom — and  he  even 
went  the  length  of  lightly  smoothing  out  one  or  two  of  these 
creases.  Because,  you  see,  Janie  was  not  there,  and  Sabina  was 
accustomed  to  have  some  one  wait  on  her  and  be  kind  to  her. 

The  hateful  hands  of  the  great  clock  kept  creeping  on,  and  at 


90  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

length  the  guard  came  along  with  his  warning.  Sabina  went  in 
and  took  her  scat.  He  kept  by  the  window  outside  until  the 
train  began  to  move  slowly  away ;  and  then  Sabina  smiled  her 
farowoll  thanks  to  him,  and  presently  he  found  himself  standing 
on  that  wide,  empty  platform,  alone. 

He  did  not  go  away  quickly  from  Victoria  Station ;  no,  he 
kept  lingering  about  there,  looking  at  the  long  platform  where  he 
and  she  had  walked  together.  And  when  at  length  he  set  out 
for  home,  he  went  rather  slowly  and  thoughtfully  ;  and,  strange- 
ly enough,  he  chose  his  way  by  Cornwall  Gardens  and  Victoria 
Road,  and  through  Kensington  Square.  And  then,  again,  he  did 
not  pursue  a  straight  course ;  he  turned  back  a  little  in  Kensing- 
ton High  Street,  and  went  into  a  florist's  shop  there,  and  rather 
idly  looked  about,  and  seemed  more  interested  in  the  place  than 
in  the  purchase  he  eventually  made.  The  flowers  he  directed  to 
be  sent  to  Miss  Janie  Wygram  ;  but  he  did  not  send  his  card 
with  them  —  he  only  meant  that  they  should  go  to  the  dusky 
drawing-room  where  sometimes  he  had  found  Sabina  in  the  by- 
gone days. 

But  at  last  he  got  home,  and  into  his  studio.  Somehow  it 
seemed  a  very  lonely  and  silent  place,  and  he  could  not  even  think 
of  work.  Almost  mechanically  he  threw  off  his  coat  and  hat, 
and  sate  down  to  the  piano,  and  began  to  let  his  fingers  wander 
over  the  keys.  And  what  were  his  fancies  about?  Well,  they 
were  not  very  sad,  after  all ;  for  he  was  thinking  of  August — and 
the  great  city  very  empty  but  for  the  presence  of  Sabina — and 
his  being  in  London  during  that  strange  time — and  sometimes 
seeing  her.  And  what  was  the  air  that  he  was  quite  inadvertently 
— and  somewhat  slowly  and  absently  —  playing  ?  He  did  not 
himself  notice  how  entirely  inappropriate  it  was  to  the  new 
friendship. 

"  Parlatcle  d'amor,  o  cari  fior, 
Ditele  die  I'acloro, 
Ch'  k  il  solo  mio  tesoro, 

Ditele  cbe  il  mio  cor  lanjrue  d'amor!" 


A  FOBEBODINQ.  91 


CHAPTER  XL 
A  FOREBODING. 

Sabina  returned  to  Brighton,  and  to  Mrs.  W3'gram,  and  to 
long,  idling,  sunny  mornings  at  the  end  of  the  West  Pier  in  the 
society  of  Mr.  Fred  Foster.  Mrs.  Wygram  looked  on  at  this 
continual  and  ever-increasing  intimacy  with  alarm  which  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  put  into  words.  In  her  small  way,  too, 
she  did  what  she  could  to  avert  the  danger  that  she  too  clearly 
foresaw.  But  it  was  in  vain  that  she  hinted  her  preference  for 
inland  drives ;  and  she  could  not  well  insist,  for  it  was  Sabina 
who  defrayed  the  cost  of  these  amusements.  And  it  was  in  vain 
that  she  tried  to  cultivate  Sabina's  interest  in  Mr.  Lindsay: 
pointing  out  his  name  in  the  list  of  the  guests  at  the  Academy 
banquet;  telling  her  how  he  had  been  included  in  the  toast  of 
the  "  Outsiders  "  at  the  Academy  Club  dinner  at  Greenwich,  and 
that  his  speech  in  reply  had  produced  the  most  favorable  impres- 
sion; coming  back  again  and  again  to  inconsequent  praise  of  the 
Shannon  drawing  they  had  hung  up  in  their  small  sitting-room; 
and  wondering  if  there  was  a  possibility  of  his  being  descended 
from  the  high-sounding 

"  Sir  David  Lindsay  of  the  Mount, 
Lord  Lion  King  at  Arms." 

Sabina  somehow  seemed  indifferent  about  Mr.  Lindsay.  She 
expressed  no  dissent  when  Mrs.  Wygram  insisted  that  he  was  so 
clever  and  handsome  and  popular  and  modest,  and  all  the  rest  of 
it;  nay,  she  would  even  admit  that  that  was  true,  and  that  he  was 
deserving  of  all  good  things ;  but  there  an  end.  And  Mrs.  Wy- 
gram was  afraid  to  express  any  more  clearly  her  wishes — and  her 
fears. 

Moreover,  as  time  went  on,  she  observed  a  remarkable  altera- 
tion in  Mr.  Foster's  manner  towards  Sabina;  and  it  came  about 
in  this  way.  On  the  morning,  after  Sabina's  return  from  Lon- 
don, they  as  usual  strolled  out  to  the  end  of  the  Pier ;  and  there, 


92  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

sure  enough,  was  the  occupant  of  the  Bath-chair,  reading  a  pink- 
colored  sporting  paper,  and  apparently  very  well  content  with 
himself. 

"Ah,  how  do  you  do.  Miss  Zembra?"  said  he.  "I  was  think- 
ing about  you  yesterday  when  you  were  in  London." 

'"  Indeed  ?" 

"Yes.  I  chanced  to  fall  in  Avith  one  of  the  local  magnates — 
an  ex-mayor — who  said  I  had  met  him  somewhere  or  other,  I 
forget  where,  and  we  had  a  pretty  long  chat  together.  Well, 
among  other  things,  he  was  telling  me  about  a  fete  and  bazaar 
they  mean  to  hold  in  the  Pavilion  Gardens  to  raise  funds  for — 
what  was  it? — I  think  some  Convalescent  Home  attached  to  the 
Children's  Hospital ;  and  that  his  wife  had  undertaken  to  get  up 
a  stall  for  the  sale  of  flowers  and  bonbons,  and  so  on.  But  the 
ex-mayoress,  it  appears,  is  a  sensible  woman.  She  says  she  wants 
to  obtain  the  services  of  an  exceedingly  pretty  young  lady,  who 
would  be  able  to  get  plenty  of  money  for  the  flowers  from  the 
young  fellows  about.  Well,  I  told  him  I  knew  some  one  who 
answered  that  description,  and  who  might  possibly  be  induced  to 
help." 

Now,  this  was  Mr.  Foster's  ordinary  manner  towards  Sabina; 
and  bitterly  and  angrily  did  Mrs.  Wygram  resent  it.  Why 
should  he  talk  to  her  so  coolly  and  indifferently  ?  How  dared 
he  say  to  her  face  that  she  was  a  pretty  young  lady?  What 
kind  of  a  description  was  that  of  Sabina?  Why,  he  almost  as- 
sumed an  air  of  patronage,  said  Mrs.  Wygram  to  herself  in  her 
jealous  wrath,  this  whipper-snapper,  who  was  not  worthy  of  hav- 
ing a  single  look  of  her  beautiful  Sabie  bestowed  on  him. 

There  was  little  difficulty  in  persuading  Sabina  to  give  her  serv- 
ices in  aid  of  the  Children's  Hospital;  only  she  said  to  him, 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Foster,  that  charity  has  been  defined  as  A 
asking  B  to  help  C.  Now,  I  want  to  know  what  A  is  going  to 
do  this  time?" 

"Who  is  A?" 

"  You." 

"  How  am  I  A  ?" 

"Because  you  ask  me  to  do  certain  things  for  certain  other 
people.     But  what  are  you  going  to  do  yourself?" 

"  Well,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "  if  my  little  speculation  on  the  Two 
Thousand  comes  off  all   right,  you  won't  find  me  behindhand. 


A   FOREBODING.  93 

No,  no;  you'll  have  one  good  customer,  at  all  events.  But  what 
am  I  to  do  with  the  flowers  when  I've  got  them?  I  don't  know 
anybody  in  this  town,  hardly." 

"  What  are  you  to  do  with  them  ?  Give  them  back  to  me,  and 
I  will  sell  them  over  again,"  said  Sabina,  promptly. 

It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  him  that  he  might  present  the 
flowers  to  Sabina  herself  ;  perhaps  he  thought  she  was  too  matter- 
of-fact  a  young  woman  to  care  for  such  things. 

However,  the  date  fixed  for  the  bazaar  was  some  way  off  yet ; 
and  in  the  mean  time  they  had  got  into  a  long  spell  of  fine 
weather;  and  these  two  saw  a  good  deal  of  each  other,  in  the 
open  air  and  the  sunlight.  Their  meeting  of  a  morning  at  the 
end  of  the  Pier  was  almost  an  understood  arrangement;  and  then 
in  the  golden  afternoons  they  would  pass  into  the  greensward 
enclosure  of  Regency  Square,  or  go  round  to  the  Pavilion  Gar- 
dens, now  becoming  beautiful  vi'ith  flowers  and  the  clear-tinted 
young  summer  foliage.  And  not  only  had  Sabina  got  her  sailor's 
hat,  but  she  appeared  to  be  much  more  particular  about  her  cos- 
tume than  had  been  her  wont  in  London  ;  she  made  herself  very 
neat  and  trim,  and  wore  pretty  things  round  her  neck  and  at  her 
wrists,  and  was  most  fastidious  about  the  dressing  of  her  hair. 
Mrs.  Wygram  ventured  to  make  some  little  comment;  and  the 
girl  only  looked  surprised — and  said  she  supposed  that  it  was 
idleness  that  made  her  attentive  to  such  trifles. 

And  very  bright  and  cheerful  and  animated  looked  those  Pa- 
vilion Gardens  on  the  day  set  apart  for  the  fete ;  the  umbrageous 
elms  shimmering  in  their  freshest  green  ;  young  maidens  and 
children  in  summer  costume  strolling  along  the  paths,  or  crossing 
the  wide,  smooth  lawn  ;  two  regimental  bands  playing  alternately  ; 
long  strings  of  colored  lamps  already  hung  up  for  the  evening  il- 
lumination ;  the  white  tents  around  the  enclosure  busy  with  vis- 
itors. Sabina's  stall  was  almost  entirely  given  up  to  flowers;  and 
not  only  had  she  an  abundant  store  of  sprays  and  button-holes 
and  bouquets,  but  also  she  had  large  masses  of  wallflower,  daffo- 
dils, marsh-marigolds,  and  the  like,  on  the  chance  of  the  alder- 
men's wives  and  daughters  understanding  the  art  of  decorating 
their  dining-rooms.  The  worthy  ex-mayor  and  his  wife,  on  whose 
behalf  Sabina  had  undertaken  the  function  of  saleswoman,  were 
most  assiduous  in  bringing  her  customers;  and  she  was  not  over- 
exacting   with   her  prices ;  sometimes   people  came  back.     Mrs. 


94  SABINA   ZEMERA. 

Wygram  lent  a  helping  hand.  Mr.  Foster  was  there,  but  made 
no  undue  profession  of  his  acquaintance;  whenever  the  tall,  fair 
flower-girl  was  busy,  he  had  his  Bath-chair  removed  away  under 
the  elm-trees,  and  remained  there  listening  to  the  band. 

And  now  occurred  the  incident  which  seemed  to  Mrs.  Wygram 
(but  perhaps  she  was  unjustly  jealous,  owing  to  Janie's  repeated 
warnings)  to  be  the  turning-point  in  Mr.  Foster's  attitude  towards 
Sabina.  There  came  into  the  enclosure  two  young  fellows  who 
seemed  to  be  known  to  him  ;  they  went  up  and  spoke  to  him, 
and  remained  chatting.  These  were  the  first  of  Mr.  Foster's 
friends  that  Sabina  had  seen ;  and  she  was  rather  pleased  to  find 
that  they  were  not  of  a  horsy  type.  No ;  they  were  merely  a 
couple  of  tali,  light -haired,  healthy -complexioned,  well-dressed 
English  lads,  whom  one  might  associate  with  plenty  of  boating 
and  cricket,  but  hardly  with  the  turf.  And  presently  she  had  a 
better  opportunity  of  seeing  what  they  were  like ;  for  Mr,  Foster 
brought  them  along  to  the  stall. 

"  Miss  Zembra,"  said  he,  "  I  have  brought  you  a  couple  of  cus- 
tomers; but  don't  be  too  hard  on  them." 

Good-looking  lads  they  were,  she  thought ;  though  the  younger 
one  was  evidently  very  shy.  He  scarcely  lifted  his  eyes  to  the 
beautiful,  gracious  flower-girl  ;  he  selected  the  first  little  spray 
that  came  handy,  and  paid  for  it,  and  seemed  rather  glad  to  re- 
tire. The  elder  and  taller  of  the  two  was  not  so  timid;  he  ap- 
peared to  be  a  little  fastidious  in  his  choice;  and  once  or  twice, 
when  he  asked  her  a  question,  he  ventured  to  glance  at  her. 

"  How  much  did  you  say  this  rose  was  ?"  he  asked. 

"Two  shillings." 

*'  Oh  yes,  I  will  take  that,  if  you  please." 

He  put  his  fingers  in  his  waistcoat-pocket  and  took  out  a  couple 
of  coins. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  he,  rather  bashfully,  "  that  you  will  find 
them  rather  discolored ;  but  I  hope  you  won't  mind." 

And  with  that  he  put  down  two  sovereigns  on  the  board,  and 
said  "  Good-morning,"  and  raised  his  hat,  and  went  away. 

"I  beg  your  pardon — stay  a  moment!"  Sabina  instantly  called 
to  him. 

He  turned  and  came  back,  looking  somewhat  confused.  Sabina 
was  not.     She  smiled  towards  him,  and  said, 

"  You  know  I  cannot  give  you  any  of  the  money  back — they 


A  FOREBODING.  95 

never  allow  that  at  bazaars — but  I  will  give  you  another  rose,  if 
you  like." 

She  picked  out  a  white  rose  and  handed  it  to  him ;  her  eyes 
were  very  gracious. 

"  I'm  snre  it's  awfully  kind  of  you,"  said  he,  blushing  furiously  ; 
and  then  he  managed  to  stammer,  "  And — and,  of  course,  it's  this 
one  I  shall  keep — I — I  don't  want  the  other  one  now." 

"  Here  is  a  pin  if  you  wish  to  wear  it,"  said  Sabina.  "  Mrs. 
AVygram,  will  you  fasten  it?" 

(For  Mrs.  Wygram  was  outside  the  stall.) 

"Thank  you,  very,  very  much,"  said  he;  but  it  was  to  Sabina 
he  said  it,  not  to  Mrs.  Wygram. 

"  Look  here,  Lionel,"  said  Mr.  Foster,  somewhat  sharply,  "  we'd 
better  clear  out — we're  only  blocking  the  way." 

And  so  the  three  friends  went  off,  and  were  seen  of  Sabina  no 
more  that  day.  But  by-and-by,  when  she  got  a  favorable  chance, 
Mrs.  Wygram  went  round  and  inside  the  stall.  She  seemed  vexed, 
and  yet  partly  inclined  to  laugh  as  well. 

"Sabie,"  said  she,  "  I  don't  know  whether  you  know  it  or  not, 
but  I  do  believe  you  are  the  most  atrocious  flirt  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  the  girl  said,  not  a  little  startled. 

"  Why,  the  way  you  went  on  with  that  poor  young  fellow — 
giving  him  a  rose — and  looking  ail  kinds  of  things — you've  sent 
him  away  with  his  head  quite  bewildered." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!"  Sabina  said,  but  still  rather  wondering. 
"  Why,  don't  you  understand  ? — he  gave  me  two  sovereigns  for  a 
rose.  Do  you  imagine  boys  of  his  age  have  so  many  sovereigns 
to  spare — or  would  spend  them  that  way  if  they  had?" 

"  He  would  have  given  you  his  boots  and  his  gloves  and  his 
watch-chain  after  the  way  you  looked  at  him !"  Mrs.  Wygram 
protested. 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that !  I  thought  it  was  very  kind  of  him  to 
give  me  so  much  towards  my  stall ;  and  of  course  I  wanted  to  be 
civil  to  him.     I  hope  I  was,"  she  added,  boldly. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  were,"  Mrs.  Wygram  retorted.  "  You  were  very 
civil  indeed — if  that  is  what  you  call  civility.  I  think  that  is  what 
Janie  calls  it,  too.  No,  she  calls  it  kindness — she  said  it  was  only 
kindness  when  you  sipped  some  wine  out  of  Mr.  Lindsay's  chalice, 
so  that  he  might  put  it  back  among  his  treasures." 


96  SABINA  ZEMBEA. 

For  an  instant  or  two  she  could  not  remember;  then  a  slight 
color  came  to  her  face. 

"  I  did  not  think  there  was  any  harm,"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  yon  don't  know  that  you  have  sent  Mr.  Foster 
away  very  angry  ?" 

"  Mr.  Foster  !"  said  Sabina,  with  her  eyes  wide — as  if  she  wanted 
to  know  what  Mr.  Foster  had  to  do  with  her. 

"But  it's  true;  and  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  won't  find  him 
back  here  again  to-day  !" 

Mrs.  Wygram  was  not  mistaken.  Mr.  Foster  put  in  no  further 
appearance.  And  it  was  not  until  the  evening,  when  they  were 
in  the  quietude  of  their  own  rooms,  that  Mrs.  Wygram  said, 

"  Well,  now,  Sabie,  I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  I  really  don't 
think  you  know  how  pretty  your  eyes  are,  and  you  do  mischief 
without  intending  it.  You  need  not  look  at  men  in  so  frank  a 
way ;  you  should  be  a  little  more  self-conscious  and  watchful. 
Why,  you  fairly  blinded  that  young  fellow  this  morning." 

"  A  school-boy !"  said  Sabina,  but  with  her  cheeks  reddening 
a  little  ;  "  I  wonder  you  could  think  of  such  a  thing  !" 

"  Sabie,  why  will  you  go  on  persuading  yourself  that  you  are 
an  old  woman  ?"  the  other  exclaimed.  "  It's  all  those  hospitals  ! 
You've  been  so  accustomed  to  take  charge  of  people — to  be  good 
to  them,  and  humor  them,  and  be  a  kind  of  mother  to  them — that 
you  forget  you  are  a  young  woman,  with  remarkably  beautiful 
eyes.  And  some  day  or  another  you  will  break  a  man's  heart — 
that  will  be  the  end." 

"Oh,  you  need  not  talk  such  nonsense,"  said  Sabina,  proudly. 

Now,  if  Mr.  Foster  went  away  from  the  Pavilion  Gardens  in  an- 
ger, he  showed  no  trace  of  anything  of  the  kind  when  they  met 
as  usual  on  the  Pier  next  morning.  And  it  was  from  that  morn- 
ing that  Mrs.  Wygram  (in  her  subsequent  conversations  with  Ja- 
nie)  professed  to  date  the  change  in  his  manner  towards  Sabina. 
He  no  longer  treated  her  with  friendly  indifference,  varied  now 
and  again  with  a  little  jocose  raillery  ;  beseemed  more  anxious  to 
please  her,  and  to  win  her  favor.  Those  two  Lionel  lads  happened 
to  come  down  the  Pier  that  morning;  and  of  course  they  stopped 
to  speak  to  him  ;  and  they  raised  their  hats  to  Sabina,  who  was 
standing  by,  and  who  graciously  acknowledged  that  salutation. 
In  the  ordinary  course  of  affairs  Mr.  Foster  might  fairly  have  in- 
troduced them  by  name  to  Miss  Zembra — after  their  kindness  of 


A   FOREBODING.  97 

the  day  before ;  but  he  did  nothing  of  the  sort ;  and  they  had 
perforce  to  go  on  rather  lingeringly,  as  Mrs.  Wygram  imagined. 
That  afternoon  Mr.  Foster  sent  Sabina  some  flowers.  The  next 
morning  he  told  her  he  had  taken  a  box  at  the  theatre  for  that 
same  evening,  and  that  it  would  be  very,  very  kind  of  her  if  she 
and  Mrs.  Wygram  would  come  and  keep  him  company. 

"  But  a  Bath-chair — in  a  theatre  ?"  she  said. 

"Oh,  George  and  I  will  manage,"  he  said,  confidently.  "If 
you  come  along  in  the  eveuing,  you  will  find  me  already  in  the 
box — box  G  it  is :  I  should  be  very  grateful  to  you  if  you  would." 

And  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  would  be  unfriendly  to  refuse. 
Here  he  was  in  a  strange  town,  with  hardly  any  society  ;  and  he 
was  bearing  his  banishment  so  heroically.  And  so  she  and  Mrs. 
Wygram  went,  and  found  him  comfortably  ensconced  in  a  large 
box  commanding  an  easy  view  of  the  stage;  and  there  was  a  lit- 
tle bouquet  lying  in  readiness  for  each  of  the  ladies.  The  piece 
■was  a  merry  one,  played  by  an  excellent  London  company ;  and 
Sabina  had  not  been  in  a  theatre  for  many  a  day;  and  she  had 
the  natural  and  healthy  laughter  of  a  sehool-girh  He  had  tea 
and  coffee  brought  to  them  between  the  acts ;  in  short,  he  paid 
them  every  attention  that  was  possible ;  and  when  they  finally 
got  home,  even  Mrs.  Wygram  had  to  confess,  not  only  that  they 
had  spent  a  most  charming  evening,  but  that  Mr.  Foster,  when  he 
chose,  could  make  himself  very  pleasant  and  agreeable. 

Whether  Mrs.  Wygram  entirely  relished  the  change  from  Mr. 
Foster's  half-supercilious  indifference  to  his  mood  of  eager  and 
respectful  amiability  may  perhaps  be  questioned  ;  but,  at  all  events, 
it  afforded  her  plenty  of  material  for  study  and  conjecture.  One 
of  its  chief  features  was  an  almost  continual  wish  on  his  part 
to  be  justifying  himself  and  his  ways  of  life  in  Sabina's  eyes. 
Hitherto  he  seemed  to  care  nothing  for  her  opinion — he  had  even 
jocularly  told  her  of  one  or  two  foolish  love-affairs.  But  now  he 
seemed  anxious  to  stand  well  with  her,  and  would  make  excuses 
for  himself  and  his  pursuits,  and  would  even  recall  things  she  had 
said  on  former  occasions  that  he  might  urge  some  plea  of  de- 
fence. 

"No,  I  am  not  a  great  reader,"  he  said,  one  morning,  apropos 
of  nothing  at  all.  "  It's  men  and  women  who  interest  me 
most—" 

"  Next  to  horses  ?"  Sabina  suggested,  with  a  smile. 
5 


98  SABIXA    ZEMBKA. 

"Now,  tliat  isn't  fair,  Miss  Zerabra;  but  you're  always  hard  on 
me  of  late — I  don't  know  why.  And  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
about  my  reading;  if  I  were  compelled  to  have  only  two  books, 
I  would  choose  Chaucer  and  Shakespeare,  and  that  is,  again,  just 
because  they  show  me  men  and  women.  I  don't  like  conundrums 
in  literature,  or  wire-drawing,  or  fog;  life  isn't  long  enough  to  bo 
spent  in  finding  things  out — just  because  the  fellow  won't  speak 
plain.  And  then,  after  all,  real  men  and  women  are  just  as  inter- 
esting to  me  as  those  I  find  in  books.  When  I  am  going  about 
the  streets  here  I  find  continual  amusement  and  surprise  and  oc- 
cupation." 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  that,"  Sabina  said,  in  an  undertone,  so  as 
not  to  interrupt  him. 

"Out  at  the  end  of  the  Chain  Pier  is  a  splendid  place,"  he 
continued.  "Sometimes  I  go  there  when  I  have  missed  you 
here;  and  you  see  a  good  deal  of  human  nature  about.  Some- 
times very  pretty,  too.  Why,  is  there  anything  prettier  than  to 
see  a  young  girl — I  mean  one  of  those  spindle-shanked  creatures 
of  twelve  or  thirteen,  with  a  straw  liat  and  long  hair,  and  big 
clear  eyes — ^^is  there  anything  prettier  than  to  see  her  pet  an  old 
lady  —  an  old  lady  as  ugly  as  the  mischief,  most  likely,  fluffy 
black  clothes,  and  glass  bugles  in  her  bonnet?  Yes,  and  tease 
her,  too  ;  and  then  put  her  arm  round  her  and  coax  her  into  good- 
humor  again?  Or  you'll  see  a  purple-faced  old  sportsman — a 
real  Punjaub  jungle-cock — devilled-kidneys-for-breakfast  sort  of 
fellow — kind  of  chap  would  send  blue  thunder  through  his  club 
if  his  chop  were  underdone,  or  overdone,  or  late  by  thirty  seconds 
— you'll  sec  him  come  walking  out  with  a  sickly-white  girl  in  a 
long  couch,  and  he'll  hold  the  sunshade  over  her,  or  read  the  news- 
papers to  her,  and  be  just  like  a  nurse  to  her.  Then  the  lads  and 
boys — and  sometimes  old  men — at  the  fishing.  Well,  I  like  to 
see  them  at  it ;  they've  the  true  instinct,  and  they're  very  earnest 
about  it,  though  I  never  see  them  get  anything  but  a  reckless  lit- 
tle flounder  or  an  eel.     Spooners  are  not  very  interesting." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?"  said  she,  innocently. 

"Lovers,!  should  sa}'.  Well,  they're  not  very  interesting; 
they  look  so  foolish  when  you  chance  on  them.  Besides,  it  isn't 
fair;  they  should  be  let  alone.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  is  very 
funny ;  to  go  round  the  churches  on  Sunday  morning  after  serv- 
ice has  begun ;  and  you  generally  find  outside  one  or  two  ofia- 


A   FOREBODING.  99 

cials — sometimes  a  man,  sometimes  a  woman — and  they  have  the 
most  curiously  indifferent  air  on  their  faces.  They  look  at  the 
sky,  they  look  down  the  street;  they  seem  to  say,  *  Weil,  we've 
done  our  part  of  the  business ;  we've  shut  him  up  with  his  au- 
dience ;  he  has  got  to  get  through  the  rest  of  the  performance 
now.' " 

"  But  a  church  is  not  a  theatre,"  Sabina  said,  gently. 

"Not  all  of  them,"  he  said;  and  then,  fearing  to  have  got  on 
dangerous  ground,  he  pointed  out  to  her  that  these  Sunday  morn- 
ing perambulations  were  almost  a  necessity  in  his  case,  as  he  did 
not  like  going  inside  in  his  Bath-chair. 

And  so  this  continual  association  and  intimacy  went  on  ;  and 
Sabina  was  very  kind  to  hiol  (as  she  was  to  every  one,  Janie 
■would  have  said) ;  and  there  was  distinctly  no  indifference  on 
his  part.     One  afternoon  he  was  in  having  tea  with  them. 

"  I  have  a  little  surprise  for  you,"  he  said  to  Sabina. 

"  Indeed  1" 

"  My  father  and  mother  are  coming  to  London  next  week,  and 
purpose  running  down  here  for  a  day  or  two.  I  hope  you  will 
let  me  introduce  them  to  you ;  they  would  be  so  very  much 
pleased." 

Of  course  she  said  it  was  she  who  would  be  pleased ;  but  Mrs. 
Wygram  was  struck  with  a  sudden  dismay. 

"  Do  you  know  what  he  is  doing  now  ?"  she  instantly  wrote  off 
to  Janie.  "  He  is  bringing  his  father  and  mother  from  Bucking- 
hamshire that  Sabie  may  be  introduced  to  them  as  his  future 
wife.  I  am  sure  of  it — I  am  sure  that  is  what  he  means.  Well, 
I  have  held  my  tongue  all  this  while,  but  I  cannot  do  so  any 
longer ;  I  must  tell  the  girl  what  she  is  bringing  on  herself.  Yes, 
this  very  night  I  will.  But  I  wish  you  were  here,  Janie.  I  am 
not  very  strong  just  now;  and  I  am  all  of  a  tremble  when  I  think 
of  it.  Still,  what  would  not  one  do  for  Sabie?  And  I  know  she 
is  too  kind-hearted  to  take  it  amiss." 


100  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

FLIGHT, 

But  it  was  a  long  time  before  the  little  woman  could  screw  up 
her  courage;  and  even  at  the  last  moment  she  fah'ly  jibbed  and 
bolted.  Late  that  night  Sabina  was  in  her  own  room,  and  lei- 
surely getting  ready  for  bed ;  she  wore  a  dressing-gown  of  pale- 
blue  and  white,  and  heavy  masse*  of  her  golden-brown  hair  fell 
loose-flowing  and  free  over  her  shoulders  and  down  to  and  below 
her  waist. 

"  Dear  Sabie,"  said  Mrs.  Wygrara  (though  this  was  not  in  the 
least  what  she  wanted  to  say),  "  I  would  give  a  hundred  pounds, 
if  I  had  it,  that  Walter  Lindsay  could  see  you  as  you  are  now." 

"  Mrs.  Wygram  !"  Sabina  exclaimed — but  there  was  not  much 
of  ferocity  in  her  virgin  pride. 

"  It  would  be  something  for  an  artist  to  dream  of  all  his  life 
long,"  Mrs.  Wygram  continued,  recklessly.  "  Do  you  know,  Sa- 
bie, you  are  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  seen  who  reminds  me 
of  Rossetti's  'Blessed  Damozel.'     You  remember? — 

"  '  Her  hair  that  lay  along  her  back 
Was  yellow  like  ripe  coru.'  " 

"  I  thought  my  hair  was  brown,"  Sabina  said,  quietly.  "  How- 
ever, it  is  not  of  much  consequence.  I  have  no  wish  to  become 
an  artist's  model.  Besides,  you  forget  that  Mr.  Lindsay  is  a  land- 
scape-painter." 

"  But  surely  you  know  how  wonderful  he  is  in  catching  like- 
nesses !"  the  other  said.  "  Why,  the  portraits  he  did  of  Mrs. 
Secley's  boys  were  quite  marvellous.  Oh  yes ;  there's  no  reason 
in  the  world  why  he  should  not  do  a  figure  subject.  And  I  know 
he  was  thinking  of  it.  Yes,  I  know;  for  I  have  the  scrap  of 
paper  he  gave  Janie,  with  the  quotation  for  the  picture.  I  be- 
lieve I  have  it  now." 

She  pulled  out  her  purse,  and  eventually  found  the  little  bit  of 
writincr.     Sabina  read  the  lines  aloud  : 


FLIGHT.  101 

"See  where  she  sits  upon  the  grassy  green 
(0  seemlj'  sight !) 
Yclad  in  scarlet,  lilce  a  maiden  queen, 

And  ermines  white; 
Upon  her  head  a  crimson  coronet, 
With  damask  roses  and  dalfodiliies  set." 

"  Yes,  it  sounds  picturesque,"  Sabina  said,  in  her  placid  way. 
"And  whom  is  he  going  to  paint  like  that?" 

"You." 

"Dear  Mrs.  Wygram,  are  you  out  of  your  mind  ?"  , 

"  But  it's  true,  lie  wanted  to  know  whether  you  would  sit  to 
him.  Oh,  he  was  so  anxious  about  it,  but  quite  afraid  to  ask  you. 
Yes;  and  he  said  if  only  Janie  could  induce  you  to  sit  to  him,  he 
would  do  a  pencil  drawing  of  you,  and  give  it  to  Janie  and  me 
— as  a  kind  of  bribe,  I  suppose," 

"  I  wonder,  now,"  said  Sabina,  laughing,  "  how  many  portraits 
of  me  you  would  like  to  have  in  Kensington  Square." 

"  Don't  you  think  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  them,  Sabie,  when 
you  are  no  longer  there  yourself  ?" 

And  behold  !  here  was  her  chance,  come  quite  unexpectedly ; 
and  she  was  bound  to  face  it.  Hardly  aware  of  what  she  was  do- 
ing, she  put  her  trembling  fingers  on  the  girl's  arm ;  and  piteous 
indeed  was  her  tone. 

"  Dearest  Sabie,  don't  be  angry  !  No,  you  won't  be  angry — 
but  I  must  speak  to  you — I  can't  stand  by  and  not  say  a  word — 
you  know  I  love  you,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  always  be  friends — " 

"Now,  what  is  this  all  about?"  Sabina  said,  gently,  for  she 
could  see  how  agitated  the  little  woman  was. 

"Don't  you  know,  then,  why  Mr.  Foster  has  sent  for  his  father 
and  mother  to  come  to  Brighton  ?  Can't  you  guess  ?  Sabie,  it  is 
to  introduce  you  to  them  as  their  future  daughter-in-law." 

For  the  briefest  moment  the  girl  seemed  to  draw  herself  up  to 
her  full  height,  and  there  was  a  proud  look  about  her  lips;  but 
that  instantly  disappeared.  She  put  her  hand  on  the  trembling 
hand  of  her  companion,  and  patted  it  affectionately. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "  I  see  I  must  put  you 
back  on  your  quinine,  and  insist  on  the  port-wine  at  lunch.  Your 
nerves  are  all  wrong — why,  you  are  fluttering  at  this  moment  like 
a  caught  rabbit — and  you  let  all  kinds  of  ridiculous  fancies  get 
into  your  brain." 


102  SAKINA   ZEMBBA. 

"  They  are  not  ridiculous  fancies,  Sabie  !  Why  will  you  be  so 
blind  ?  But  it  all  comes  from  the  same  thing:  you  will  go  on  im- 
agining yourself  to  be  an  elderly  woman — whose  business  is  to 
pet  people  and  take  care  of  them — whereas  the  truth  is  that  you 
are  a  very  dangerously  attractive  young  woman  ;  and  I  tell  you 
that  men  don't  understand  a  young  woman  looking  at  them  in  that 
frank  way.  In  the  case  of  a  young  married  woman  it  might  be 
diScrent— " 

"There  again  !"  said  Sabina,  with  an  air  of  resignation  ;  "  you 
have  to[d  me  all  that  before,  dear  Mrs.Wygram  ;  and  I  don't  for- 
get that  you  accused  me  of  tlirtation  merely  because  I  gave  that 
pretty,  yellow-haired  boy  a  rose  in  exchange  for  two  sovereigns." 

"Yes;  and  if  that  young  man  is  heart-whole  at  this  moment,  I 
am  very  much  mistaken,"  Mrs.  Wygram  retorted.  "  Why,  don't 
you  see  how  he  is  always  hanging  about,  just  for  the  chance  of 
saying  a  word  to  Mr.  Foster,  and  so  being  allowed  to  raise  his  hat 
to  you  ?" 

"  Poor,  innocent  young  thing  !" 

"  Sabie,  if  you  choose  to  act  like  a  flirt,  don't  talk  like  one !" 
said  Mrs.  Wygram,  sharply. 

Sabina  looked  at  her. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  can't  make  me  quarrel  with  you — I  won't 
do  it.  For  I  know  you  are  out  of  sorts ;  and  I  know  you  mean 
to  be  kind ;  so  I  can  only  say  that  you  are  quite  mistaken.  Why, 
the  idea  !  Mr.  Foster  and  I  have  been  excellent  friends,  simply  be- 
cause I  know  that  no  nonsense  of  that  kind  would  ever  enter  his 
head." 

"But  hasn't  it?  I  am  very  much  mistaken  if  it  has  not,"  Mrs. 
Wygram  persisted.  "  Sabie,  you  don't  know  what  an  amount  of 
encouragement  you  have  given  him.  And  encouragement  from 
you!  I  tell  you,  you  don't  know  your  own  value.  Why  should 
you  defer  to  his  opinions — you  who  have  a  hundred  times  as 
much  brains  as  he  has?  And  why  should  a  beautiful  young  wom- 
an like  you  wear  things  that  you  think  will  please  him  ? — oh,  but 
you  do,  whether  you  are  conscious  of  it  or  not.  And  why  should 
you  be  interested  in  stories  of  race-courses  and  regattas  and  crick- 
et? and  be  entertained  with  accounts  of  what  happened  to  him 
when  he  was  a  school-boy — as  if  his  life,  and  every  moment  of  it. 
Lad  been  of  the  utmost  value?" 

"  Poor  Mr.  Foster !"  Sabina  interposed.      "  There's  no  one  to 


FLIGHT.  103 

say  a  good  word  for  him.  If  it's  in  London,  it's  Janie  who  keeps 
saying  bitter  things  about  him ;  and  if  it's  in  Brighton,  it's  yon. 
Wliat  has  he  done  to  deserve  it  all — except  to  be  unfortunate  ? 
And  they  used  always  to  say  that  women  had  some  sympathy 
for  people  who  were  unfortunate ;  but  that  was  in  the  old  days,  I 
suppose." 

"You  can't  deceive  me,  Sabie,  though  you  may  be  able  to  de- 
ceive yourself." 

"  Can't  I  ?  Well,  at  all  events,  I  can  put  you  to  bed  ;  and  that's 
what  I  am  going  to  do  now ;  for  I  won't  have  any  of  my  patients 
sitting  up  and  talking  past  midnight." 

However,  this  warning  and  appeal  were  not  without  a  certain 
effect ;  for,  naturally,  a  young  woman  feels  somewhat  alarmed 
when  she  is  told  that  her  manner  of  regarding  men  is  a  trifle  too 
audacious.  Sabina  brazened  it  out  before  Mrs.Wygram  ;  but  in- 
wardly she  was  resolved  to  be  a  good  deal  more  circumspect.  And 
she  wanted  to  know  what  it  was  in  Mr.  Foster's  relations  with  her 
that  had  prompted  these  wild  surmises. 

Accordingly,  next  day,  she  kept  her  eyes  observant.  But  what 
could  she  see  except  that  he  was  rather  more  respectful  towards 
her  tlian  he  used  to  be?  He  did  not  laugh  at  her  now,  nor  tease 
her,  nor  hint  that  she  was  being  imposed  upon  by  the  poor  peo- 
ple she  befriended.  No ;  he  was  rather  sympathetic  in  that  di- 
rection ;  only  he  said  he  did  not  like  the  idea  of  her  going  about 
alone — or  with  such  an  insufficient  protector  as  Janie.  Indeed,  he 
chose  to  insist  upon  this  point;  though,  of  course,  it  was  not  for 
a  cripple  in  a  Bath-chair  to  oifer  to  become  her.  guard  and  cham- 
pion and  ally. 

She  observed,  also,  that  the  stories  he  told  her — and  he  had  al- 
ways an  abundant  stock  of  them,  chiefly  in  connection  with  the 
history  of  the  turf — were,  for  the  most  part,  not  humorous  or  sar- 
castic as  formerly,  but  rather  tragic  and  romantic ;  and  that  ho 
seemed  to  have  a  warm  admiration  for  Miss  Dorothy  Vernon  and 
her  gay  enterprise.  On  the  other  hand,  how  could  she  suspect 
him  of  talking  with  a  purpose  when  such  an  incident  as  the  fol- 
lowing occurred?  They  were  on  the  Chain  Pier  together.  He 
was  relating  to  her  the  sad  history  of  the  fourth  Manjuis  of  Hast- 
ings, and  the  reckless  struggles  of  that  luckless  lad  to  retrieve  his 
fortunes.  Suddenly  there  was  a  considerable  commotion  among 
the  few  idlers  on  the  Pier;  one  of  the  anglers  had  hooked  a  large 


104  SABINA   ZBMBRA. 

bass;  you  could  sec  the  fisli  in  the  clear  green  water  below — tug- 
ging and  plunging,  and  shooting  this  way  and  that;  and  there 
was  a  frantic  calling  for  the  landing-net.  From  that  instant  the 
Marquis  of  Hastings  and  Miss  Dorothy  Vernon  and  Miss  Sabina 
Zembra  were  alike  forgotten.  He  took  no  more  notice  of  his  com- 
panion. And  when,  at  last,  amid  the  general  rejoicing,  the  big 
fish  had  been  hoisted  up  in  the  landing-net,  and  carried  oflE  to  the 
weighing-machine,  and  found  to  scale  just  over  eight  pounds,  and 
when  the  prevailing  excitement  had  quieted  down,  Sabina  had 
gently  to  remind  him  that  he  had  broken  off  in  the  midst  of  a 
story,  and  then  he  could  not  in  the  least  recollect  at  what  point. 
Sabina  said  to  herself  that  it  was  impossible  she  could  wholly  en- 
gross his  attention  when  she  was  so  easily  dispossessed  by  an 
eight-pound  fish. 

"  Sabie,"  said  Mrs.  Wygram,  that  evening,  "  do  you  know  that 
you  behaved  yourself  a  little  better  to-day  ?" 

"  I  am  glad  you  approve,"  Sabina  answered.  "  But  it  is  none 
the  pleasanter  to  have  to  be  continually  on  the  watch  with  one's 
friends." 

"  Friendship  between  a  young  man  and  a  pretty  girl,"  observed 
Mrs.  Wygram,  sententiously,  "  is  all  very  well  in  its  way,  but  it 
wants  to  have  its  limits  pretty  clearly  defined.  And  I  think  he 
understands  now.  He  noticed  the  change  in  your  manner — I 
could  see  that  he  did.  And  perhaps  he  is  beginning  to  think 
that  he  was  a  little  premature  in  sending  for  his  father  and 
mother." 

"  What  nonsense  you  talk  !"  said  Sabina,  bluntly.  "  I  tell  you, 
the  coming  of  his  father  and  mother  to  Brighton  has  no  more  to 
do  with  me  than  with  the  man  in  the  moon." 

"  We  will  see." 

"  If  I  thought  such  folly  were  possible,  I  would  go  up  to  Lon- 
don this  very  evening  and  send  Janie  down  in  my  stead.  I'm 
afraid  I  shall  have  to  do  that  very  soon  in  any  case." 

"  But,  Sabie,  I  shall  have  to  go  back  home  too." 

"You?  Not  you!  Yon  won't  be  allowed  to  come  home  un- 
til you  are  ever  so  much  stronger.  Janie  will  take  mv  place 
lierc." 

"  And  what  will  Mr.  Foster  do  when  you  are  gone,  Sabie?" 

Sabina  was  too  proud  to  reply. 

But  this  placid  and   equable  and   eventless  life   was  far  too 


FLIGHT.  105 

pleasant  to  last.  Mr.  Fred  Foster's  father  and  mother  arrived  in 
due  course,  and  were  installed  in  the  rooms  he  had  provided  for 
them ;  and  the  same  afternoon  he  brought  them  along  to  call  on 
Mrs.  Wygram  and  Sabina.  He  seemed  a  little  anxious  and  nerv- 
ous. But  if  he  was  at  all  concerned  about  the  impression  likely 
to  be  produced  on  the  old  lady  by  the  young  girl,  or  vice  versa, 
he  must  have  been  speedily  reassured.  At  the  very  first  glance 
— while  as  yet  this  tall,  thin,  elegant -looking  woman,  with  the 
short  white  curls  and  apple-tinted  cheeks  and  soft  gray  eyes,  had 
hardly  entered  the  room — Sabina  had  formed  a  liking  for  her; 
and  that  was  only  confirmed  by  the  singular  air  of  refinement 
and  graciousness  of  manner  that  seemed  to  surround  her  as  she 
came  forward.  And  on  her  side  ?  She  took  the  girl's  hand  in 
hers,  and  held  it ;  apparently,  she  was  unable  to  utter  a  word  ;  but 
as  she  read  all  that  that  clear,  beautiful,  youthful  face  had  to  say 
to  her,  her  eyes  quickly  filled  with  tears.  Sabina  was  frightened 
— she  scarcely  knew  why;  she  managed  to  say  a  few  common- 
place words  of  welcome,  and  then  she  turned  to  give  a  similar 
greeting  to  the  old  gentleman.  As  for  him,  it  was  pretty  evi- 
dent that  he  considered  the  whole  proceeding  a  bore.  As  soon 
as  he  decently  could,  he  withdrew  from  the  lot  of  them,  and  went 
to  the  window,  and  stared  out  there  with  his  hands  behind  him, 
over  the  tails  of  his  highly  respectable  black  frock-coat. 

But  the  old  lady  was  sitting  next  Sabina,  and  had  drawn  her 
chair  very  close ;  and  she  seemed  unable  to  keep  her  eyes — which 
■were  kind  and  affectionate  eyes — away  from  the  girl.  And  she 
said  that  she  knew  her  quite  well  already,  so  much  had  Fred 
written  home  about  her ;  and  how  was  she  to  thank  Miss  Zembra 
for  all  her  goodness  to  him  when  he  was  shut  up  a  prisoner  in 
Lancaster  Gate? — and  how  fortunate  it  was  for  him  to  have  had 
so  much  of  her  companionship  during  his  stay  at  the  sea-side. 
There  was  a  great  deal  to  talk  about;  but  all  through  it  the  old 
lady's  glances  were  gently  scrutinizing  the  various  points  of  the 
girl's  appearance,  and  her  costume  too — the  beautiful  line  of  the 
neck  and  shoulders,  her  hair,  the  trimness  of  her  cuffs,  the  neat- 
ness of  her  brooch  and  collar,  the  slender,  tapering,  but  large 
hand,  the  gracious  arch  of  the  eyebrow ;  and  the  more  that  old 
Mrs.  Foster  looked,  the  more  and  more  did  pleasure  sit  beaming 
upon  her  own  face.  Once  or  twice  she  touched  Sabina's  arm; 
and  her  fingers  seemed  to  linger  there.  She  followed  her  every 
5* 


106  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

word  ea<^erly ;  she  laughed  when  there  was  the  least  occasion  ; 
delight  and  tenderness  shone  in  the  soft  gray  eyes. 

The  old  gentleman  came  back  from  the  window,  and  rather 
brusquely  remarked  that  it  was  a  pity  to  waste  so  fine  an  after- 
noon within  -  doors,  as  he  had  never  seen  Brighton,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  plenty  to  see.  His  wife  rose  reluctantly.  And  now 
she  held  Sabina  by  both  hands,  and  seemed  loath  to  leave  her. 

" Good-by, dear,"  she  said,  and  still  she  held  her  hands  a  little; 
and  then,  with  an  impulse  of  affection,  she  kissed  the  girl — kissed 
her  on  both  cheeks — and  said  good-by  again,  and  went  away. 

When  they  had  gone,  Sabina  walked  once  or  twice  up  and 
down  the  room,  in  a  curiously  agitated  manner,  and  then  came 
back. 

"  Mrs.  Wygram,  tell  me — tell  me  what  I  have  said  or  done  ! — 
oh,  you  may  say  any  harm  of  me  you  like ! — but  have  I  done  or 
said  anything  wrong? — what  do  they  mean?" 

Mrs.  Wygram  was  not  one  to  seek  a  cheap  triumph. 

"I  think  it  is  quite  clear  they  came  to  Brighton  to  make  your 
acquaintance,  Sabie,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  Yes,  but  why  ?  Why  did  she  kiss  me  like  that  ? — a  stranger  ! 
Why  did  she  talk  about  their  home  in  Buckinghamshire,  as  if 
she  expected  me  to  be  there  at  any  time?"  And  then  Sabina's 
cheeks  reddened  angrily.  "  What  has  Mr,  Foster  been  saying 
about  me  to  them  ?  What  right  has  he  to  speak  about  me  ?  If 
I  have  done  anything — if  I  have  done  anything  I  should  not  have 
done — I — I  will  apologize — but  they  have  no  right — they  have 
no  right — to  speak  about  me." 

And  here  she  burst  out  crying,  which  was  a  very  unusual  thing 
for  her  to  do ;  and  of  course  the  next  moment  Mrs.  Wygram's 
arms  were  round  the  girl's  neck,  and  she  was  being  soothed  and 
pacified  with  all  kinds  of  endearing  phrases. 

"  Sabie  darling,  be  sure  he  said  nothing  about  you  but  what 
was  perfectly  kind — perhaps  too  kind.  And  if  there  has  been 
any  mistake  it  can  easily  be  put  right.  Perhaps  the  mistake  is 
ours — I  hope  it  is.  You  see,  you  do  make  people  affectionate  tow- 
ards you.     Perhaps  she  did  not  mean  anything." 

"Anyway,"  Sabina  said,  quickly,  "I  am  going  up  to  London 
to-night." 

"  You  cannot  do  that !"  her  friend  said,  instantly.  "  Why,  it 
would  be  a  confession !     It  would  look  as  if  you  were  ashamed, 


rLIGIIT.  lO*/ 

and  had  run  away  !"  And  then  the  little  woman's  courage  rose. 
"And  what  has  my  beautiful  Sabie  to  be  ashamed  of?  I  say — 
nothing!  Haven't  I  been  with  you  all  the  time?  Let  them 
come  to  me  if  they  like — but  you  are  not  going  to  run  away  for 
anybody." 

All  doubts,  however,  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  old  people's 
visit  to  Brighton  were  set  at  rest  next  morning.  Mrs.  Foster 
called  about  eleven,  and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  see  Sabina  alone. 
Mrs.  Wygram  went  up-stairs. 

And  very  gently  and  skilfully  and  affectionately  did  this  am- 
bassador disclose  her  mission.  Her  "  poor  boy,"  as  she  called 
him,  had  something  of  great  importance  to  say  to  Sabina,  but  in 
his  present  crippled  state  he  had  never  a  chance  of  seeing  her  by 
herself,  and  would  she  take  it  amiss  if  he  had  asked  his  mother 
to  come  and  plead  for  him. 

"And  for  myself,  dear,"  said  this  soft-voiced  diplomatist,  "  if 
you  knew  how  proud  I  should  be  to  call  you  my  daughter !" 

Sabina  had  grown  very  wliite. 

"Dear  child,  are  you  ill?"  the  other  exclaimed;  "shall  I  get 
you  some  water?" 

"No,  no,  no,"  the  girl  said,  and  she  was  striving  to  be  quite 
calm.  "  I  am  very,  very  sorry,  but  there  has  been  some  mistake. 
I  feared  it.  After  you  came  ycsteixlay  I  asked  Mrs.  Wygram  if 
I  had  done  anything — " 

"  It's  not  what  you  have  done,  it's  what  you  are,"  the  old  lady 
said,  and  she  took  the  girl's  hand.  "  You  are  pretty  and  you  are 
good  ;  can  you  wonder  at  the  rest?" 

Sabina  withdrew  her  hand. 

"  I  see  you  are  afraid  of  me,"  Mrs.  Foster  said,  smiling.  "  Per- 
haps it  was  foolish  of  the  boy  to  send  me  here  to  do  his  wooing 
for  him.  You  think  I  should  make  a  harsh  mother-in-law  to 
you." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  be  very  kind  to  whoever  your  son  marries," 
Sabina  managed  to  say,  and  with  truth  she  said  it. 

"Then  may  I  tell  him  that  when  he  can  come  and  speak  for 
himself  there  will  be  some  hope  for  him  ?  I  think  he  would  be 
satisfied  even  with  that." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no;  say  anything  but  that!"  Sabina  said,  but  she 
seemed  scarcely  to  understand  the  meaning  of  her  words.  "No, 
no,  that  is  impossible.     It  was  not  that  I  was  thinking  of.     Tell 


108  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

him  I  am  so  very  sorry  for  this  dreadful  mistake.  I  hope  I  was 
not — too — thoughtless  ;  but  yes,  I  suppose  that  was  it ;  and  now 
■what  can  I  do?  I  ain  very,  very  sorry — tell  him  I  hope  he  will 
forgive  me — " 

"  I  see  I  distress  you,"  the  old  lady  said,  and  she  rose  from  her 
chair.  "But  remember  you  have  only  refused  me,  you  have  not 
refused  him.  Perhaps  it  was  my  rude  way  of  asking,  and  he 
niav  be  more  successful;  and  no  one,  no  one  would  be  happier 
than  I,  should  that  time  ever  come,  my  dear." 
She  kissed  her  again  before  she  left. 

"  Remember  that,  my  dear,  I  shall  be  a  proud  woman  if  ever  I 
have  to  call  you  my  daughter." 

Sabina  went  hurriedly  to  Mrs.  "Wygram.  She  was  very  pale, 
but  apparently  quite  business-like  and  collected. 

"  What  you  said  has  come  true.  I  am  going  up  to  London, 
and  I  will  send  Janie  down  to-night.  I  could  not  bear  to  meet 
them  again." 

"But,  Sabie,"  Mrs.  Wygram  protested,  for  she  could  guess 
what  underlay  this  forced  quietude  of  manner,  "you  are  going 
away  with  a  quite  exaggerated  notion  of  what  has  happened  !" 

"  I  am  not.  Well,  perhaps  I  don't  understand  yet  all  that  has 
happened.  But  I  wish  I  had  taken  your  warning  earlier.  I  did 
not  know." 

Sabina  arrived  in  Kensington  Square  between  three  and  four, 
and  bade  Janie  pack  up  and  get  away  to  Brighton  as  quickly  as 
possible.  But  something  in  her  look,  and  perhaps  also  in  her 
coming  to  town  so  unexpectedly,  awoke  Janie's  suspicions. 

"What  is  the  matter?  Sabie — Sabie,  you  have  not  promised 
to  marry  Mr.  Foster?" 

Tliorc  was  a  pry  of  appeal  in  her  voice. 

"  I  have  refused  him,"  was  Sabina's  answer.  "  And  I  have 
covered  myself  with  shame.  But  I  hardly  understand  all  that 
has  happened,  and — and — don't  ask  me  any  more,  Janie." 

Janie's  preparations  for  her  departure  were  necessarily  hurried, 
but  still  she  could  think  of  her  friend.  Now,  Walter  Lindsay, 
not  content  with  sending  Sabina  a  sketch  from  the  Sliannon,  had 
also  painted  a  small  replica  of  the  landscape  she  had  admired  in 
his  studio,  and  in  her  absence  had  forwarded  it  to  Kensington 
Square.  It  was  now  lying  in  the  parlor.  Amid  all  her  hurry 
Janie  found  time  to  go  and  get  hold  of  that  little  picture,  and 


REPENTANCE.  109 

carry  it  swiftly  and  stealthily  up  to  Sabina's  room,  where  she 
placed  it  in  a  prominent  position  on  the  mantle-shelf.  It  would 
be  the  first  thing  Sabina  must  see  when  she  opened  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

REPENTANCE. 

It  is  hardly  to  be  imagined  that  a  beautiful  and  healthy  young 
woman  should  have  attained  to  the  age  of  five-and-twenty  with- 
out experiencing,  at  some  time  or  other,  and  especially  in  her 
earlier  years,  certain  tender  preferences  for  members  of  the  op- 
posite sex ;  but  these  love-fancies,  if  they  may  be  so  called,  had 
in  Sabina's  case  been  quickly  absorbed  in  the  cares  and  active 
interests  of  a  particularly  busy  existence.  Her  character  was 
robust  and  independent ;  she  had  little  time  for  sentimental  mus- 
ings. Marriage  had  never  entered  into  her  scheme  of  life.  Then 
she  had  seen  one  after  another  of  her  companions  retire  into  the 
realm  of  matronhood,  leaving  her  pretty  much  alone;  and  she 
had  to  deal  with  an  ever-increasing  amount  of  business  about 
training-ships,  convalescent  homes,  philanthropic  societies,  and 
the  like ;  and  it  is  quite  probable,  as  Mrs.  Wygram  maintained, 
that  these  occupations  of  hers,  and  the  almost  maternal  authority 
she  had  frequently  to  exercise  in  the  households  of  the  poor  and 
sickly  and  indigent,  had  taught  her  a  certain  brusqueness  and 
directness  of  manner  as  of  one  who  was  too  much  engaged  with 
the  practical  needs  of  the  world  around  her  to  pay  much  atten- 
tion to  the  refinements  of  etiquette.  But  when  Mrs.  Wygram 
plainly  accused  her  of  being  a  downright  flirt,  Sabina  was  entire- 
ly startled  out  of  her  self-complacency  ;  and  when,  closely  follow- 
ing upon  that,  Mr.  Foster  made  her  an  indirect  offer  of  marriage, 
thereby  incurring  the  pain  and  mortification  of  a  refusal,  there 
was  no  end  to  her  self-reproach.  It  was  true,  then,  that  she  had 
acted  with  an  indiscretion  visible  to  all  on-Iookers?  It  was  true 
that  she  had  encouraged  him  to  believe  she  was  willing  to  be  his 
wife?  What  would  he  think  of  her?  What  would  his  mother 
think  of  her?  She  recalled  the  patient  and  gentle  grace  and 
dignity  of  the  old  lady,  the  evident  and  affectionate  hope  that 
was  in  all  her  words  and  looks;  hur  promises  of  kindness;  and 


110  SABINA   ZEMBEA. 

she  could  imagine  the  mother  goini^  back  to  the  son  and  break- 
ing the  truth  to  him  in  her  delicately  considerate  fashion.  Well, 
there  was  one  woman  who  had  never  deceived  him.  "The  only 
son  of  his  mother,"  he  would  at  least  retain  his  faith  in  her — the 
faith  that  he  was  so  openly  proud  of.  And  he  w'ould  forget  that 
he  had  ever  been  trifled  with  by  a  flirt. 

Now  Sabina  never  did  a  more  foolish  thing  in  her  life  than 
when  she  came  away  from  Brighton.  Had  she  remained  there, 
her  remorse  and  self-abasement  would  have  been  largely  mitigated. 
She  would  have  discovered  that  Mr.  Foster's  grief  over  his  disap- 
pointment was  not  of  a  crushing  nature.  He  was  annoyed,  it  is 
true;  but  he  was  annoyed  chiefly  by  the  grumblings  of  his  fa- 
ther, who  considered  that  he  had  been  dragged  away  hither  on  a 
fool's-errand.  Mr.  Fred  Foster  was  of  a  cheerful  teniperament ; 
despondency  was  not  much  in  his  way, 

"We  haven't  pulled  it  off  this  time,  mother,"  said  he,  "  but 
wait  till  you  see  me  on  my  legs  again.  You  could  hardly  expect 
a  high-stepper  like  that  to  get  matched  with  a  broken-down  old 
cripple  in  a  paddock." 

"  If  I  live  to  see  you  married  to  a  girl  like  Miss  Zembra,  Fred- 
die," said  the  gentle  mother,  "  I  shall  be  happy.  A  girl  like  that 
would  have  a  good  influence  over  you ;  you  would  give  up  your 
wild  life.  And  I  am  sure  your  father  and  I  would  be  glad  to  let 
you  have  the  old  house ;  we  could  do  very  well  at  Crookfield." 

"  You  need  not  count  on  me.  I  should  be  no  such  fool,"  the 
elder  Mr.  Foster  remarked,  with  some  point. 

Mr.  Fred  Foster  chose  to  ignore  this  chance  observation. 

"Oh,  don't  you  make  any  mistake,  mother;  Miss  Zembra  isn't 
a  prig  at  all.  She  is  just  as  fond  of  fun  as  anybody ;  only  she 
has  never  had  a  chance.  Why,  she  herself  told  me  how  well  she 
liked  looking  on  at  some  dancing  there  was  at  an  artist-fellow's 
house — I  forget  the  name — and  she  said  it  was  quite  fine  to  see 
a  lot  of  young  people — that's  the  way  she  talks,  you  know — 
romping  about  and  dajicing  the  Highland  schottische  and  enjoy- 
ing themselves  without  restraint.  Oh,  there's  nothing  of  the 
stuck-up  school-miss  about  her,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  should  like  to  see  Miss  Zembra  dancing  the 
Highland  schottische,"  the  old  lady  said,  quietly,  "  though  I  hard- 
ly know  why." 

"  No,  no,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh,  "  nothing  less  dignified  than 


REPENTANCE.  Ill 

the  minuet  in  Ariadne.  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  should  care  to 
see  her  romping  about  either.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I  should  like 
to  see — I  should  like  to  see  her  drive  a  dog-cart  up  to  Ascot  Heath, 
two  ponies  tandem;  wouldn't  that  be  something  like  the  thing? 
And  on  the  lawn,  mother — just  think  of  her  on  the  lawn — vvhy, 
there  isn't  one  of  them  would  be  in  it  with  her!  Think  of  her 
figure — I  tell  you  there's  not  one  of  the  women  would  be  in  it  with 
her — except,  perhaps,  Lady ,  and  she  doesn't  go  to  race  meet- 
ings any  more  since  that  thing  happened.  Well,  do  you  know, 
mother,  I  don't  think  you  would  grumble  at  a  little  extravagance. 
A  good  figure  wants  good  style — and  the  fashions  have  to  be  paid 
for—" 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  the  least  touch  of  remon- 
strance in  her  placid  voice,  "you  speak  very  confidently." 

"  Oil,"  said  he,  lightly,  "  that  is  a  fancy  picture,  you  know. 
But  I  am  not  so  sure  it  won't  come  off.  Of  course,  I  have  re- 
ceived my  snub,  and  must  grin  and  bear  it ;  but  while  there's  life 
there's  hope." 

Sabina  had  but  little  idea  that  he  was  accepting  the  situation 
in  this  cheerful  frame  of  mind ;  and  she  was  alone  in  London  ; 
and  she  was  very  miserable.  For  she  had  a  vague  conviction 
that  some  kind  of  calamity  had  occurred,  for  which  she  was 
mainly  responsible ;  and  her  wrong-doing  was  none  the  less  dis- 
tressing that  it  was  so  hard  to  define.  She  kept  thinking  and 
thinking  over  it;  wondering  what  Mrs.  Wygram  was  saying  to 
Janie  about  it;  hoping  that  Mr.  Foster  was  not  too  deeply  of- 
fended with  her.  Had  she  sent  him  sufficient  assurance  of  her 
sorrow  over  this  hapless  mistake?  Would  it  not  have  been 
kinder  if  she  had  seen  him — to  say  a  word  of  good-by  ?  And 
the  beautiful  and  gentle  old  lady  who  had  asked  her  in  so  pleas- 
ing a  way  to  become  her  daughter — ought  she  not  to  sit  do-wn 
and  write  to  her  and  make  some  excuses  for  her  running  away  ? 

Sabina  was  very  busy  on  these  first  days  of  her  return  to  Lon- 
don ;  but  she  went  about  her  duties  with  a  preoccupied  air.  It 
struck  even  herself  that  slie  had  less  self-confidence  somehow  in 
addressing  people — even  those  best  known  to  her  and  most  de- 
pendent on  her.  But  she  guessed  that  might  be  the  effect  of  her 
long  holiday ;  she  had  come  back  strange  to  her  work ;  she  had 
not  fallen  into  tlie  way  of  it  yet. 

Either  Mrs.  Wygram  or  her  daughter  wrote  to  their  beloved 


112  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

Sabie  every  day.  This  was  professedly  a  medical  report ;  but  of 
course  it  contained  all  the  news  of  their  uneventful  life  at  the  sea- 
side. And  it  seemed  unaccountable  to  Sabina  that  neither  of 
them  should  ever  make  the  least  mention  of  Mr.  Foster.  Why 
she  wished  to  hear  about  him  she  did  not  ask  herself;  but  each 
letter  that  came  from  Brighton  she  opened  quickly,  and  each  time 
there  was  an  undefined  feeling  of  disappointment  that  never  a 
word  was  said  about  him.  About  the  mother  and  father  she  had 
heard ;  the  old  people  had  left  a  couple  of  days  or  so  after  her 
departure — Mrs.  Foster  calling  at  Regency  Square  and  leaving 
some  very  affectionate  messages  for  Miss  Zenibra.  But  never  the 
least  allusion  to  the  young  man ;  and  Sabina,  though  writing  ev- 
ery other  day,  somehow  did  not  choose  to  ask. 

The  reason  why  Janie  had  nothing  to  say  about  Mr.  Foster  was 
simply  this:  she  had  learned  from  her  mother  what  were  his 
principal  haunts,  and  she  took  care  that  her  mother  and  herself 
should  keep  away  from  these.  They  never  went  out  to  the  end 
of  the  West  Pier,  nor  to  the  end  of  the  Chain  Pier ;  and  they 
seldom  went  into  the  Old  Steyne  Enclosures  or  the  Pavilion  Gar- 
dens. For  Janie's  vague  dislike  for  the  young  man  had  developed 
into  something  like  hatred  when  she  heard  that  he  had  attempted 
to  carry  off  Sabina  from  them;  and  that  attempt  having  been 
fortunately  frustrated,  she  was  resolved  that  it  would  not  be 
through  her  mother  and  herself  that  any  communications  should 
be  resumed.  And  she  was  delighted  to  see  that  Sabina  never 
even  mentioned  his  name.  She  had  feared  the  worst  from  the 
curious  interest  that  Sabina  seemed  to  take  in  the  character  and 
fortunes  of  the  stranger  whom  chance  had  thrown  in  her  way. 
But  that  was  all  over  now.  He  had  been  sent  about  his  busi- 
ness. Sabina  was  back  in  London,  and  sooner  or  later  Walter 
Lindsay  would  be  calling  in  at  Kensington  Square  to  see  Mr. 
Wygiam. 

Brighton  is  a  small  place ;  Janie  was  caught  at  last.  Her 
mother  had  lain  down  for  a  while  after  lunch  ;  the  daughter  had 
come  out  for  a  bit  of  a  stroll,  and  had  wandered  down  to  the  sea- 
front,  where  she  took  a  seat  on  one  of  the  benches.  A  passing 
Bath-chair  was  stopped  for  a  moment  just  as  it  reached  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Wygram,  but  I'm  afraid  you've  for- 
gotten me." 

She  thought  it  was  an  intolerable  piece  of  effrontery  that  he 


EEPENTANCE.  113 

should  speak  to  her,  after  what  had  happened,  but  she  could  not 
be  positively  rude. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Foster  ?"  she  said,  and  she  gave  him  her 
hand  for  a  moment.     "  I  hope  you  are  g-ctting  on  well." 

"Oh  yes,  very  well,"  he  said,  clieerfuliy.  "I  can  move  about 
a  little  now,  in-doors.  I  think  the  Derby  week  will  sec  me  on  my 
legs  again.  And  how  is  Miss  Zembra?  I  suppose  you  have 
heard  from  her." 

And  then  it  flashed  upon  her  that  he  was  assuming  she  knew 
nothing  of  what  had  occurred  ;  for  how  else  could  he  dare  to  talk 
about  Sabina  in  this  free-and-easy  fashion? 

"Oh  yes,  I  hear  from  her  frequently;  she  is  very  well,  I  be- 
lieve.    What  a  pleasant  afternoon  for  going  about !" 

If  that  was  not  an  intimation  to  him  that  he  might  move  on 
she  did  not  know  what  was.     But  he  remained. 

"  I  have  found  it  very  difEerent  since  she  left,"  said  he,  with  a 
rueful  smile.  "  Very  different,  indeed.  I  had  no  idea  we  had 
been  such  constant  companions  until  she  left.  Brighton  seems 
quite  deserted  now.  You  see,  you  get  into  the  habit  of  meeting 
people  in  a  place  like  this,  one  day  being  just  like  the  day  before 
it;  and  you  don't  notice,  perhaps,  how  much  you  are  thrown  to- 
gether.    But  you  find  out  when  they  leave." 

"Yes?"  said  Janie — which  was  rather  cold  encouragement. 

"And  I'm  awfully  sorry  she  went  away  so  hurriedly,"  he  con- 
tinued (and  Janie  wished  he  would  not  stare  at  her  so  uncom- 
promisingly with  his  clear,  hard,  blue  eyes),  "I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you  there  was  a  kind  of — kind  of — well,  something  happened 
that  might  have  admitted  of  some  explanation  if  only  she  had  not 
gone  away  so  abruptly,  I  was  awfully  sorry — if  I  could  have 
seen  her  for  merely  a  couple  of  minutes  I  could  have  explained  u 
lot.  Yes ;  and  there's  another  thing  I  wanted  to  say  to  her  be- 
fore she  went  back  to  London — well,  it  was  talked  about  occa- 
sionally here — but  I  wanted  to  impress  it  on  her — don't  you  think 
she  ought  to  look  about  for  some  male  companion — I  suppose  she 
could  not  aiford  a  secretary? — but  some  male  companion  anyway, 
to  go  with  her  through  all  those  places?" 

"  Miss  Zembra,"  said  Janie,  distantly  (for  she  was  not  going 
to  call  her  "Sabie"  to  him),  "only  goes  to  places  where  she  is 
known  ;  besides,  she  can  take  care  of  herself." 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  mean  in  that  way,"  he  said,  and  he  accepted  her 


114  6ABINA   ZEMBRA. 

repellent  attitude  with  much  good-nature  ;  perhaps  he  did  not  no- 
tice it.  "  I  mean  in  the  way  of  her  getting  sharped.  I  imagine 
she  is  imposed  on  by  a  whole  crowd  of  cringing,  fawning,  sneak- 
ing wretches.  If  a  man  were  to  go  with  her  he  would  let  a  little 
dayliglit  into  the  whole  affair." 

"  You  think  he  would  get  to  know  more  about  those  people 
than  she  could?"  Janic  asked,  "I  suppose  you  are  not  aware, 
then,  that  Miss  Zembra  is  a  member  of  the  Charity  Organization 
Society  ?" 

"  But  she  is  a  woman." 

"  A  woman  may  have  as  sharp  eyes  as  a  man." 

"  But  she  is  sure  to  have  a  softer  heart — and  that's  where  the 
trouble  comes  in." 

Janie  remained  obdurate.  Even  that  little  bit  of  adroit  flattery 
had  no  effect  on  her.  And  Mr.  Foster,  seeing  that  she  was  not  in- 
clined for  further  conversation,  left  a  friendly  message  for  her 
mother  and  passed  on. 

That  evening's  despatch  to  Sabina  could  not  well  omit  all  men- 
tion of  this  interview ;  but  Janie  had  no  scruples  whatever  about 
sending  a  distinctly  garbled  version. 

"  He  seemed  as  cheerful  and  complacent  as  you  could  wish," 
slie  wrote,  among  other  things,  "  and  put  all  the  blame  on  you  for 
having  gone  away  so  hurriedly.  Everything  could  have  been  put 
right  by  an  explanation.  1  suppose  he  means  he  could  have  ex- 
plained why  it  was  absolutely  necessary  you  should  become  his 
wife.  And  he  was  kind  enough  to  say  that  Brighton  felt  quite 
lonely  now  that  you  had  gone,  and  that  he  had  no  idea  you  and 
he  had  been  so  much  together.  I  suppose  because  he  had  not 
taken  the  trouble  to  notice," 

This  letter — the  animus  of  which  she  well  understood  and 
could  discard — set  Sabie  still  further  wondering.  What  explana- 
tion could  he  mean  ?  And  so  he  had  been  looking  back  over 
their  companionship  together;  and  perhaps  valuing  it  a  little? 
And  she  was  glad  that  he  was  putting  so  brave  a  face  on  his  dis- 
a])pointment;  for  she  assumed  that  there  must  have  been  some 
disappointment:  a  man  does  not  ask  a  woman  to  be  his  wife 
without  having  seriously  thought  it  over,  and  laid  far-reaching 
plans  and  cherished  hopes  that  he  is  anxious  to  have  fulfilled. 
And  of  course  so  important  a  choice  is  a  great  honor  to  confer 
upon  any  girl,  and  one  not  lightly  or  ungratefully  to  be  thrown 


REPENTANCE.  115 

aside.  What  explanation  was  it?  she  asked  herself  again  and 
again.  Slie  knew  that  he  was  not  a  sentimental  person  ;  but  then 
neither  was  she  herself;  perhaps  she  ought  to  have  waited,  and 
listened  to  what  he  had  to  say,  and  been  less  discourteous  in  her 
summary  refusal. 

It  may  have  been  this  continual  questioning  of  herself  that 
caused  Sabina,  one  afternoon  as  slie  was  going  down  through 
Kensington  Square,  to  pass  Walter  Lindsay  without  recognition. 
He  had  not  been  so  blind.  He  had  seen  her  a  long  viay  off ; 
and  it  was  as  if  something  had  suddenly  grasped  his  heart  and 
made  it  cease  to  beat.  He  did  not  know  she  had  returned  to 
London.  He  was  not  prepared.  The  calm  and  equable  friend- 
ship he  had  promised  himself  was  not  ther®  with  its  quieting  in- 
fluence ;  and  he  only  knew  that  the  sight  of  Sabina  advancing 
towards  him — the  real  Sabina — here  in  Kensington  Square — in 
Kensington  Square  that  he  had  peopled  so  often  with  ghosts  and 
visions  of  her — this  actual  thing  bewildered  liim  out  of  his  senses, 
and  he  could  not  think  what  he  was  to  say  to  her.  How  was  he 
to  account  for  her  being  in  Kensington  Square  at  all?  Was 
some  one  ill,  that  she  had  so  suddenly  come  back  ?  She  would 
be  startled  and  displeased  at  confronting  him  so  unexpect- 
edly. 

Sabina  came  along,  all  unheeding.  She  was  not  looking  at  any 
one  whom  she  might  meet;  her  eyes  were  absorbed.  And  when 
she  passed  him,  he  was  still  silent,  almost  fearing  to  disturb  her; 
but  the  next  moment  something  within  him  took  control  of  him, 
and  he  advanced  a  quick  step  or  two. 

"  Miss  Zembra !" 

She  turned  with  a  little  start,  but  the  moment  she  saw  who  it 
was,  there  was  a  quick  outshining  of  friendliness  from  the  beauti- 
ful eyes  and  a  pleasant  smile  of  welcome.  She  had  been  much 
harassed  and  worried  those  last  few  days ;  she  had  been  almost 
alone;  here  was  an  old  friend  who  had  been  kind  to  her  many  a 
time.  And  she  did  not  know  that  she  allowed  him  to  retain  her 
hand  while  they  were  mutually  asking  and  answering  ihe  usual 
preliminary  questions  (perhaps  he  did  not  know  it  either),  and 
she  took  no  pains  to  conceal  the  pleasure  with  which  she  recog- 
nized him  ;  and  her  eyes  met  his  with  a  frankness  that  took  no 
thought  of  consequences.  In  short,  during  these  few  seconds  her 
conduct  was  abominable,  Mrs.  Wygram  would  have  said  ;  but  Mrs. 


116  SABINA    ZKMBRA. 

Wygram  was  altogether  forgotten  in  the  surprise  and  gladness  of 
this  unexpected  meeting. 

"  You  are  going  down  that  way  ?"  he  said,  looking  towards  the 
end  of  tlie  square. 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  going  down  to  Cornwall  Gardens.  It  is  not  often 
I  pay  afternoon  calls ;  but  I  am  to  meet  an  old  admiral  who  has 
been  of  great  service  to  me  several  times,  and  I  shall  have  plenty 
of  opportunity  to  thank  him — that  is,  to  beg  for  future  favors." 

"  May  I  walk  as  far  with  you  ?" 

"  If  yon  like,"  she  said,  without  hesitation — "  if  it  is  not  out  of 
your  way." 

And  here  he  was  actually  walking  side  by  side  with  Sabina 
along  the  Kensingt(^n  Square  pavement,  as  many  and  many  a 
time  he  had  vainly  imagined  and  pictured  to  himself.  And  what 
a  tragic  thing  that  he  could  only  talk  to  her  about  trivial  matters 
— about  Brighton  lodging-houses,  and  the  crowds  at  South  Ken- 
sington of  an  evening,  and  the  various  gossip  of  the  studios — 
when  all  tlie  time  he  was  dying  to  tell  her  of  the  newly  estab- 
lished relationship,  the  unalterable  and  perfect  friendship  that  was 
to  last  between  these  two  for  ever  and  ever  and  evermore.  Of 
course  he  could  not  tell  her,  for  she  knew  of  no  other  relation- 
ship— and  had  probably  never  dreamed  of  any  ;  and  so  he  had  to 
pretend  to  be  eagerly  interested  in  training-ships  and  the  like; 
while  all  the  pleasant  and  amusing  things  he  had  been  storing  up 
for  her  during  these  many  weeks  had  gone  clean  out  of  his  head. 
No  matter;  Sabina  was  about  as  close  to  him  as  she  had  been  in 
the  hansom  ;  and  he  was  keeping  step  with  her  as  well  as  he 
could,  and  bending  towards  her  a  little,  so  that  he  could  listen  to 
her  the  more  easily,  and  sometimes  he  succeeded  in  making  her 
laugh,  and  her  laugh  was  pleasant  to  hear.  And  he  knew  that 
for  him  thenceforth  this  Victoria  Road  would  be  a  blessed  thor- 
oughfare; he  and  she  together  had  passed  underneath  the  over- 
hanging trees  of  those  front  gardens ;  for  him,  at  least,  the  place 
would  be  forever  haunted. 

Nor  even  when  she  had  passed  within  the  hated  portals  of  that 
house  in  Cornwall  Gardens  was  he  likely  to  quit  the  neighborhood 
so  long  as  she  was  there.  Of  course,  he  could  not  wait  and  offer 
to  escort  her  back  home  again,  if  she  was  going  home  ;  that  would 
have  been  too  significant;  but  he  could  linger  unobserved  until 
she  came  out,  and  have  at  least  a  last  glimpse  of  her.     And  that 


REPENTANCE.  117 

was  all  lie  obtained  ;  for  on  Sabina's  coming-  out  of  the  house  she 
took  the  first  cab  she  saw,  and  was  driven  away  he  knew  not 
whither. 

But  he  was  happy  enoug-h ;  nay,  his  heart  was  filled  with  re- 
joicing. Nor  would  he  go  northward  by  Victoria  Road  and  Ken- 
sington Square;  the  way  they  had  come  seemed  to  him  still  rich 
with  the  glory  of  her  presence ;  he  would  not  go  and  see  how 
empty  the  thoroughfares  looked.  No,  he  went  away  in  another 
direction  altogether;  and  eventually,  after  many  aimless  turnings 
and  wanderings,  found  himself,  towards  seven  o'clock,  out  in  the 
Addison  Road  neighborhood,  and  at  the  door  of  the  studio  of  an 
old  chum  of  his. 

This  Willie  Meteyard  was  rather  celebrated  in  his  way  as  hav- 
ing been  an  unconscionable  number  of  times  on  the  very  edge  of 
being  elected  to  the  Academy,  and  failing  at  the  last  moment 
through  some  unexpected  combination ;  but  he  took  these  disap- 
pointments very  equably,  and  worked  away  at  his  pictures  of  Irish 
peasant  life  with  an  assiduity  which  brought  him  a  fair  amount 
of  fame  and  the  dealers  a  large  amount  of  money.  He  was  a 
bachelor,  and  he  was  sitting  down  to  a  bachelor  dinner  when  Wal- 
ter Lindsay  entered.  Artists,  as  a  rule,  are  not  over-exacting  in 
their  needs;  there  was  soon  another  plate  on  the  table. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night,  Willie?"  the  visitor 
asked. 

"  I'm  going  with  those  Mowbray  girls  and  their  mother  to  the 
theatre." 

"You'll  have  to  dress  and  get  away  immediately,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes." 

"  W'hat  a  nuisance  !  You'd  much  better  stop  where  you  arc, 
and  we'll  go  into  the  studio  and  have  a  pipe  and  some  music." 

Now,  Mr.  Meteyard  was  nuich  fonder  of  music  than  of  the  thea- 
tre ;  and  he  knew  that  when  Lindsay  got  into  the  vein  he  played 
very  well  indeed,  and  with  quite  unusual  feeling;  besides,  Lindsay 
was  an  old  friend,  and  the  Mowbrays  were  mere  acquaintances ; 
and  the  promise  was  not  a  very  definite  one ;  and  there  was  a 
large  party  going  to  the  theatre,  and  he  would  not  be  missed. 
Finally,  he  wanted  to  stop — and  he  stopped. 

The  evening  passed  pleasantly  enough,  though  by  degrees  the 
two  friends  ceased  from  music,  and  took  mostly  to  smoking  and 
lounging  and  chatting  in  the  comfortable,  hushed  studio.     And, 


118  SABINA    ZEMBRA, 

of  course,  Walter  Lindsay  had  but  one  subject,  to  wliich  he  re- 
turned again  and  again  by  many  subterfuges  ;  and  tliat  subject, 
of  course,  was  the  beautiful  nature  and  disposition  of  Miss  Zem- 
bra,  and  the  ennobling  effect  of  an  assured  friendship  with  such  a 
woman  ;  the  influence  it  must  have  on  one's  character,  and  on 
one's  work,  too,  making  it  sincere  and  earnest  and  of  a  lofty  aim 
— all  of  which  Willie  Meteyard  had  heard  a  few  times  before.  At 
last  he  said, 

"  Look  here,  Walter,  my  good  fellow,  let's  have  an  end  of  this. 
It's  no  use  your  trying  to  humbug  me.  All  your  talk  about 
friendship  is  pure  idiocy.  I  tell  you  I  believe  what  you  say  of 
the  girl — I  suppose  it's  all  true.  But  I  tell  you  this  as  well — and 
it's  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff  to  every  one  but  yourself — I  tell  you, 
you're  just  madly  in  love  with  her." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
A  ROSE-DECORATED  BALL. 


To  name  a  thing  is  uothing;  other  people  might  call  it  love,  if 
they  liked ;  he  was  content  to  regard  it  as  a  beautiful  and  ideal 
friendship  ;  and  he  could  have  wished  that  this  was  the  fourteenth 
century,  and  London,  Florence ;  and  that  a  certain  chosen  band  of 
charming  ladies  and  young  gentlemen  might  retire  to  a  small  and 
fair  domain  without  the  city,  there  to  walk  in  cool  gardens  and 
fragrant  meadows,  singing  songs  and  telling  stories,  weaving  gar- 
lands of  flowers,  and  dancing  to  the  dulcet  strains  of  lute  and  viol 
— all  to  show  to  the  world  that  perfect  and  frank  good-comrade- 
ship might  innocently  and  advantageously  exist  between  unmar- 
ried men  and  maidens.  In  the  mean  time,  he  was  neither  in  Flor- 
ence nor  in  the  fourteenth  century  ;  and,  indeed,  he  was  too  much 
occupied  with  the  one  and  sole  and  consuming  question  as  to  how 
he  should  manage  to  see  Sabina  again  to  waste  much  thinking 
over  impracticabilities. 

But  afternoon  calls  were  useless,  for  Sabina  was  rarely  at  home 
in  the  daytime;  haunting  the  neighborhood  of  Kensington  Square 
was  tantalizing  beyond  endurance;  and  not  until  Mrs. Wvgram 
came  back  from  Brighton   could  he   hope  for  an  invitation  to 


A    ROSE-DECORATED    BALL.  119 

spend  an  evening  with  them.  Was  there  no  othei*  way?  For 
this  constant  desire  to  meet  her  again — if  only  for  a  few  min- 
utes, just  to  see  how  she  was  looking,  and  hear  her  voice — ban- 
ished every  other  thought  and  fancy  from  his  brain  ;  and  he  neg- 
lected his  work,  and  his  ordinary  companions  had  but  little  interest 
for  him  ;  and  London  became  at  once  a  delight  and  a  torture  to 
him — knowing,  as  he  did,  that  Sabina  was  somewhere  within  the 
vast  extent  of  it;  and  from  morning  till  night  he  kept  vainly 
guessing  at  her  probable  whereabouts.  All  this  was  friendship  of 
a  very  exalted  and  devoted  character,  he  knew  ;  still,  it  was  friend- 
ship. 

One  afternoon  he  went  down  to  the  house  of  a  famous  Acad- 
emician, and  found  the  mistress  of  the  mansion  at  home.  There 
were  a  few  visitors  present,  and  when  they  rose  to  leave  he  re- 
mained ;  he  wanted  to  have  a  little  private  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Mellord. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  when  they  had  gone,  "from  what  I  hear,  the 
whole  of  London  is  coming  to  you  on  the  22d?" 

"Oh  no,  no — only  a  few  friends,"  she  said  (all  hostesses  say 
the  like).  "  We  shall  be  very  quiet — don't  you  be  frightened 
away — " 

"  Oh,  I  am  coming,  of  course,"  he  said. 

"*!  have  got  some  pretty  women,"  she  observed,  encouragingly 
(and  she  herself  was  charming  enough,  both  in  appearance  and 
manner). 

"  You  always  do  have  pretty  women  at  your  house,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  you  know  that  other  people  are  a  little  bit  jealous  ?  How 
do  you  manage  it?  They're  not  too  fond  of  shining  side  by 
side.  They  like  to  be  solitary  stars.  Well,  now — eh — I  wanted 
to  ask  you  if  you  had  sent  a  card  to  the  Wygrams  ?" 

"The  Wygrams?"  she  repeated,  with  the  least  touch  of  sur- 
prise.     "  I  don't  think  I  did,  then." 

"  Oh,  but  you  ought,"  he  made  bold  to  say  (for  he  was  on  very 
friendly  terms  with  this  pretty  Mrs.  Mellord).  "Oh  yes,  you 
must — a  kindness,  you  know — auld  lang  syne — " 

"  I  should  hardly  have  thought  it  was  in  their  way,"  she  said, 
still  looking  rather  puzzled.  And  then  something  seemed  to 
strike  her,  and  she  regarded  the  young  man  with  shrewd  and  de- 
murely smiling  eyes.  "I  suppose  you  mean  that  Miss  Zera bra 
should  be  included  ?" 


120  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

"Miss  Zembra?"hc  answered,  and  he  took  up  an  Egyptian 
scent-burner  and  affected  to  be  deeply  interested  in  the  potter's 
handiwork.  "  Well,  yes  ;  I  understand  she  is  still  living  with 
them.  I  don't  know  that  she  would  care  to  come — probably  not. 
She  would  want  some  persuasion,  I  suppose,  if  you  were  kind 
enough  to  ask  her.  However,  if  you  want  another  pretty  woman, 
there  is  one.  Of  course,  as  I  say,  she  would  have  to  be  persuaded 
— she  doesn't  often  go  out — but  you  could  tell  her,  for  example, 
that  she  ought  to  go  out  from  time  to  time — seeing  how  rich 
people  enjoy  and  amuse  themselves  should  sharpen  her  sympathy 
■with  those  poor  people  she  works  among — you  might  put  it  that 
way,  if  you  thought  it  worth  while  asking  her." 

Mrs.  Mellord  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Lindsay,  that  you  are  a  very  admirable 
actor  ?  Of  course,  it  is  not  you  who  want  Miss  Zeinbra  to  be  here 
on  the  22d.  Oli  no.  And  your  air  of  indifference — excellent! 
Do  you  think  I  have  heard  nothing? — with  all  the  town  talking 
about  your  infatuation  for  Miss  Sabina !" 

lie  reddened  to  the  temples. 

"  I  was  not  aware  there  were  so  many  idiots  in  the  world." 

"Don't  be  angry,"  said  his  friend,  placidly  ;  "they  might  have 
coupled  your  name  with  a  plainer  girl.  Now  let  us  understand 
each  other.  Supposing  I  go  to  Miss  Zembra  and  talk  her  over, 
and  get  her  to  come  here,  perliaps  you  would  like  to  take  her  in 
to  supper  ?" 

lie  looked  up  quickly,  bat  she  did  not  give  him  time  to 
speak. 

"  I  suppose  you  would  not  object.  Well,  then,  everybody  says 
that  Ilerr  Borella  is  a  great  chum  of  yours.  I  saw  him  the  other 
night,  and  he  refused  to  come  to  me  on  the  22d — the  flimsiest 
excuse  you  ever  heard  :  do  you  think  you  can  induce  him  to 
change  his  mind?" 

"  I  know  I  can." 

"  And  will  you  get  him  to  sing?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  For,  don't  you  see,  I  am  not  going  to  sacrifice  the  whole  night 
to  you  boys  and  girls.  I  must  have  some  little  amusement  for 
the  elderly  people,  and  I  am  going  to  have  distinct  intervals  be- 
tween the  dances,  and  have  music — songs,  I  mean,  for  no  one 
listens  to  anything  else.     Well,  then,  I  have  got  Madame  Secchi 


A    KOSE-DECORATED    BALL.  121 

and  Angelica  Russell  and  Isidore,  and  one  or  two  others,  and  I 
want  3'oiir  friend  Borella  as  well." 

"  01),  that's  all  right,"  he  said,  promptly. 

"  You  really  think  you  will  get  him  to  sing  for  me?" 

"  I'll  make  him  sing." 

"  Because,"  said  pretty  Mrs.  Mellord,  gravely — and  she  regarded 
the  young  man  with  eyes  that  meant  a  good  deal — "in  that  case 
I  think,  out  of  sheer  gratitude,  I  must  do  my  best  to  persuade 
Miss  Zembra." 

The  22d  was  a  long  way  off  yet,  however;  and  in  the  interval 
the  Wygrams  came  home  from  Brighton.  During  this  time  he 
encountered  the  sympathetic  Janie  occasionally,  but  saw  very  little 
of  Sabina,  who  was  busy  with  her  multifarious  duties ;  so  that  all 
the  more  he  looked  forward  to  the  evening  on  which  he  was  to 
meet  her  at  Mrs.  Mellord's,  and  always  with  the  tacit  assumption 
that  he  was  to  have  the  monopoly  of  her  society  on  that  occasion. 
Had  it  not  been  so  at  his  own  house  on  that  memorable  night? 
Sabina  was  his  companion  all  the  way  through;  at  supper  she 
had  sat  on  his  right  hand,  and  talked  almost  exclusively  to  him  ; 
in  the  studio  the  others  were  free  to  dance,  or  listen  to  music,  or 
amuse  themselves  as  they  chose :  Sabina  and  he  were  apart,  and 
together.  And  as  it  was  then,  so  it  would  be  now ;  for  who  else 
had  such  a  claim  on  her  ? 

And  at  last  came  the  night  of  the  ball,  and  it  was  the  very 
height  of  the  London  season  ;  and  as  carriage  after  carriage  drove 
up  to  Mrs.  Mellord's  house,  the  crowd  on  the  pavement  had  more 
or  less  distant  glimpses  of  very  distinguished  people  indeed — a 
generally  recognized  face  causing  a  little  murmur  of  comment — 
and  of  the  less-known  womenfolk  who  stepped  along  under  the 
awning  in  the  lightest  and  palest  of  summer  cloaks  and  hoods. 
And  pleasant  it  was  on  this  hot  June  night  to  pass  into  the  spa- 
cious hall  of  white  and  black  marble;  and  fresh  and  cool  looked 
the  tall  ferns  that  went  all  the  way  round  the  walls ;  and  there 
was  a  grateful  flashing  of  the  central  fountain,  where  a  ghost-white 
alabaster  swan  floated  motionless  in  the  middle  of  a  miniature 
lake.  But  from  the  hall  upward  and  onward  there  was  no  deco- 
ration but  roses.  Ropes  of  roses  adorned  the  staircase ;  festoons 
of  roses  hung  above  the  doors ;  masses  of  roses  gave  color  to  the 
pale-gold  ballroom ;  and  on  the  supper-table — as  yet  concealed 
from  the  public  eye — lay  a  bed  of  red  roses  from  end  to  end. 
6 


122  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

Everywhere  there  was  a  scent  of  roses,  and  a  sound  of  music,  too, 
for  tlie  dancing  had  begun  ;  and  pretty  Mrs.  Mellord,  at  the  head 
of  the  staircase,  was  already  becoming  anxious  that  the  people 
should  disperse  a  little,  and  not  crowd  so  obstinately  round  the 
ballroom  door. 

Walter  Lindsay  was  not  in  that  ballroom.  No  ;  he  was  in  the 
spacious  hall  below,  lounging  about  with  Willie  Meteyard,  and 
pretending  to  listen  to  him.  The  subject  of  their  talk  was  etch- 
ing, ordinarily  a  sufficiently  attractive  topic  for  most  artists ;  and 
Meteyard  was  most  enthusiastic  about  a  wonder-working  press  he 
had  just  purchased.  Somehow  or  other,  however,  Walter  Lind- 
say's attention  was  but  intermittent.  He  looked  anxious.  He 
kept  glancing  towards  the  wide-open  door-way,  and  to  the  brill- 
iant crowd  that  came  slowly  pouring  in.  And  at  last,  with  a 
sudden  "  See  you  by-and-by,"  he  abruptly  left  his  companion  and 
made  for  a  certain  small  group  that  had  just  arrived. 

Sabina  (so  tall  she  seemed ;  and  to  him  she  appeared  to  be  en- 
veloped in  a  cloud  of  white  gauze — but  that  was  because  he  had 
no  eyes  for  anything  but  her  face  and  the  possible  look  of  wel- 
come he  might  find  there)  was  apparently  a  little  surprised  to 
meet  him. 

"  In  London  still  ?"  she  said,  in  her  direct  way.  "  Why  are 
you  not  in  the  country  at  work?" 

He  stammered  some  excuse. 

"  And  you  might  well  ask  what  brings  us  here,"  she  added, 
■with  a  smile ;  "  but  Janie  wanted  to  see  the  roses." 

They  passed  into  the  cloak-room.  He  was  very  nervous  while 
awaiting  them.  He  wanted  to  get  possession  of  Sabina  from  the 
first — to  establish  a  right  of  companionship  that  no  one  could 
interfere  with.  And  what  if  they  were  to  be  separated  on  the 
crowded  staircase,  or  if  she  were  to  be  snatched  away  from  hitn 
on  her  entrance  to  the  rooms  above?  It  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  that  he  was,  in  a  manner,  helpless.  In  his  own  home,  with 
Sabina  as  his  guest,  he  could  do  what  he  liked.  He  could  choose 
her  seat  for  her,  take  her  hither  and  thither,  and  generally  assume 
charge  of  her.  But  here,  in  another  person's  house,  he  had  no 
such  control ;  all  sorts  of  untoward  accidents  might  happen  ; 
wild  beasts  (in  the  shape  of  strangers  wanting  introductions) 
would  be  waiting  up -stairs  to  devour  her.  And  what  had  he 
come  for  if  Sabina  were  to  be  spirited  away  ? 


A   KOSE-DECOEATED   BALL.  123 

However,  when  the  women  reappeared,  it  was  very  evident  that 
Sabina  had  no  intention  of  ignoring  the  claims  of  old  friendship. 
She  came  forward  to  him  quite  frankly ;  appeared  to  take  it  for 
granted  he  was  waiting  for  them,  and  went  up  the  staircase  with 
him,  these  two  together,  and  Janie  looking  on  with  marked 
approval. 

"  I  wish  Mr.  Foster  could  see  them  now,"  she  said,  in  an  un- 
dertone, to  her  mother. 

"  You  know,"  Sabina  said  to  her  companion,  "  we  are  going 
away  quite  early.  I  cannot  have  all  the  good  that  Brighton  did 
to  Mrs.  Wygram  undone  again.  Wasn't  it  kind  of  her  to  take 
all  the  trouble  about  bringing  ws  here  to-night?  But  Janie  was  so 
anxious  to  see  the  pretty  rooms;  and  then  Mrs.  Mcllord  is  a  very 
persuasive  woman — when  she  sets  her  mind  on  a  thing — " 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "I  will  take  you  where  yon  will  see  everything 
without  getting  crushed.  I  know  you  don't  care  much  about 
dancing.  Miss  Zembra,  and  I  don't  either;  why,  I  detest  it — in 
this  hot  weather — in  a  crowd — " 

But  they  were  now  arrived  at  the  head  of  the  staircase.  Mrs. 
Mellord  was  not  much  surprised  to  find  Walter  Lindsay  appear  at 
the  same  time  with  Miss  Zembra ;  and  she  gave  both  of  them, 
and  the  Wygrams,  a  pleasant  greeting,  only  she  took  occasion,  as 
she  pressed  Mr.  Lindsay's  hand  sliglitly,  to  say, 

"  Borella  is  here,  and  has  already  sung  twice.  You  are  a  very 
good  boy." 

Now  as  Walter  Lindsay  was  familiar  with  this  house,  and  as 
all  the  rooms  on  this  floor  were  en  suite,  he  found  no  difficulty  in 
taking  his  little  party  by  a  roundabout  way  to  a  corner  where 
they  could  have  a  commanding  view.  And  a  very  pretty  sight  it 
was;  the  pale-hued  walls,  the  brilliant  lights,  the  masses  and  ropes 
and  festoons  of  roses;  young  English  girls  showing  further  roses 
in  their  cheeks,  their  eyes  vivid  with  the  animation  of  a  waltz ; 
dowagers  gorgeous  in  velvet  and  satin  and  diamonds ;  here  and 
there  in  the  "general  circle,"  if  one  may  use  the  phrase,  the  re- 
splendent costume  of  a  dusky  Indian  Prince,  or  the  quieter  gar- 
ments of  a  group  of  Chinese  officials  looking  on  with  impassive 
stare.  Perhaps,  indeed,  the  "general  circle"  was  more  interest- 
ing to  the  ordinary  observer  than  the  industrious  young  men  and 
maidens  who  were  engaged  in  the  active  business  of  the  evening; 
for  there  were  many  famous  folk  here ;  and,  luckily  for  Lindsay's 


124  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

companions,  his  acquaintance  was  not  confined  to  mere  painters 
and  poets,  and  people  of  that  kind.  However,  they  were  not  suf- 
fered to  remain  long  in  this  quiet  corner.  The  son  of  the  house 
had  espied  them ;  a  quadrille  was  being  formed ;  he  brought 
along  a  partner,  and  introduced  him  to  Janie.  Janie  was  a  good 
girl,  and  told  no  lie ;  only  she  threw  a  little  despairing  glance 
towards  Sabina. 

"  Won't  you  come  in,  Sabie  ?"  she  said. 

"  Will  you  ?"  said  Walter  Lindsay,  quickly. 

*'  Oh  yes,"  was  the  placid  answer. 

And  so  before  he  knew  what  he  was  about  he  found  himself 
engaged  to  dance  with  Sabina;  and  quite  inadvertently  he  took 
lier  hand  so  as  to  put  her  in  proper  position,  and  his  heart  was 
beating  pretty  quickly,  and  the  music  that  had  now  begun  made 
a  fervor  in  his  brain,  so  that  the  little  speeches  he  made  to  her 
were  rather  incoherent.  Fortunately,  they  were  "  sides,"  and  in 
the  period  of  waiting  Sabina  looked  on  calm  and  bland  and  smil- 
ing. When  it  came  to  their  turn  she  went  through  the  various 
evolutions  with  a  simplicity  and  ease  and  grace  that  entirely  sur- 
prised him,  and  wrought  him  a  more  deadly  woe  than  ever.  Was 
it  her  beautiful  figure,  then,  that  caused  her  slightest  movement 
to  appear  so  fine  and  finished  ?  and  then  she  was  so  gentle  and 
dignified  in  her  self-possession,  and  Janie's  eyes,  as  he  could  see, 
were  full  of  admiring  pride ;  she  seemed  to  be  saying,  "  Is  not 
our  beautiful  Sabie  perfect  in  everything  she  does?"  And,  of 
course,  he  pretended  to  have  forgotten  the  figures  in  order  to 
have  information  given  him  in  an  undertone ;  and  he  rather  lin- 
gered in  letting  go  her  hand  when  they  returned  to  their  places, 
and  he,  too,  spoke  to  her  in  an  undertone,  as  if  to  shut  away  the 
outer  world.  But  alas!  this  close  companionship  could  not  last 
forever;  the  music  and  the  dancing  ceased,  and  he  had  to  take 
her  back  to  Mrs.  Wygram.  It  was  Perdita  he  was  thinking  of, 
and  Florizel's  speech  to  her:  "What  you  do  still  betters  what  is 
done.  .  .  .  When  you  do  dance,  I  wish  you  a  wave  o'  the  sea,  that 
you  might  ever  do  nothing  but  that."  Only  this  was  rather  a 
tall  and  stately  Perdita,  though  her  manner  was  gracious  enough. 

Madame  Secchi  was  now  singing  the  Casta  Diva  air  from 
"  Norma,"  but  he  did  not  listen  attentively ;  he  was  busy  with 
the  fear  that  that  officious  young  Mellord  would  presently  be 
bringing  along  some  partner  and  stealing  Sabina  away  from  him. 


A   ROSE-DECORATED    BALL.  125 

And  he  was  resolved  that  no  such  thing  should  occur.  So  lie 
charged  them  not  to  move  from  their  present  position,  and  slipped 
away  through  the  crowd,  and  reached  his  hostess. 

"  Mrs.  Mellord,"  said  he,  "  are  you  going  to  be  awfully  good  to 
nie  ?" 

"  I  always  am,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"  Yes ;   but  this  time  especially  ?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Miss  Zembra  and  the  Wygrams  are  not  going  to  stay  late, 
and  I  want  to  show  them  the  supper-room  ;  I've  heard  about  the 
roses.     May  I  take  them  in  ?" 

"  The  candles  are  not  lit  yet." 

"  Oh,  but  there  will  be  some  kind  of  light." 

"  Very  well,  then."  And  then  she  looked  at  him  with  laughing 
but  friendly  eyes.  "  Promise  to  be  grateful  to  me  all  your  life. 
I  will  let  you  give  them  supper  now,  if  you  can  find  any." 

"  No— may  I  ?" 

"But  get  the  servants  to  put  the  table  straight — don't  forget 
that." 

And  right  gladly  and  swiftly  lie  went  back  to  his  friends;  the 
music  had  not  yet  finished ;  Sabina  was  still  there. 

"  Come  along,"  said  he  ;  "  I  am  commissioned  by  Mrs.  Mellord 
to  take  you  into  the  supper-room — before  any  one  else  goes  in — 
come  along !" 

And  then  he  bundled  them  away,  and  guided  them  across  the 
upper  hall,  and  opened  the  ponderous  rosewood  door,  and  ushered 
them  into  this  long,  dimly  lit  chamber.  But  even  these  few 
lamps  showed  what  a  beautiful  room  it  was — the  abundance  of 
flowers,  the  silver  candelabra,  the  crystal  and  china,  making  the 
table  very  pretty  indeed.  Then  it  was  cool  and  quiet  and  mys- 
terious ;  there  was  no  servant  of  any  kind  near ;  they  were  as 
children  who  had  stolen  into  some  forbidden  place.  Of  course 
the  womenfolk  would  not  hear  of  his  attempting  to  get  them  an}'^ 
supper.  Would  he  disarrange  that  beautiful  table  ?  They  could 
get  some  refreshment,  if  they  wanted  any,  in  the  other  room. 

Then  said  Janie, 

"  Mother,  Sabie  is  tired  after  her  long  day's  work.  Let  her 
stop  here — in  the  cool.  We  will  go  back  and  look  at  the  dan- 
cing." 

Sabina  was  nothing  loath  ;  tliis  room  was  indeed  much  less  hot 


126  SABINA    ZEMBRA, 

than  the  others;  he  had  got  her  a  comfortable  chair;  and,  -when 
she  had  time,  she  enjoyed  hiziness  luxuriously.  What  did  she 
talk  to  him  about?  It  seemed  a  matter  of  little  concern  to  her. 
He  was  all  eagerness  to  interest  her — about  a  dozen  different  sub- 
jects; but  she  answered  as  if  the  mysterious  lights,  and  the  cool 
atmosphere,  and  the  scent  of  the  roses  were  enough  for  her.  She 
lay  a  little  back  in  her  chair;  the  solitary  diamond  in  the  slender 
necklace  round  her  throat  flashed  from  time  to  time;  she  never 
raised  her  eyes  to  his;  she  seemed  content — and  blandly  indif- 
ferent. 

But  there  was  a  growing  wildness  in  his  brain  ;  at  any  moment 
she  might  carelessly  rise  and  signify  her  wish  to  return  to  the 
ballroom ;  and  he  could  not  control  her  going.  He  took  a  rose 
from  the  bed  of  roses. 

"Miss  Zcmbra,  will  you  give  me  this  rose?"  he  said,  in  rather 
a  low  voice. 

In  an  instant  she  seemed  to  be  startled  into  half-consciousness, 
and  to  recollect  where  she  was — and  what  Mrs.  Wygrara  would 
probably  say  of  her.  The  next  moment  she  had  risen  and  taken 
the  rose  and  placed  it  gently  back  on  the  table. 

"We  must  not  rob  Mrs.  Mellord,"  she  said,  v.ith  perfect  quie- 
tude.    "And  now  shall  we  go  back?" 

"  I  would  wait  ten  years  to  get  that  rose  from  you,"  he  said, 
for  this  madness  was  still  in  his  brain. 

Perhaps  she  did  not  hear.  She  preceded  him  calmly  to  the 
door,  and  there,  indeed,  she  lingered  for  half  a  second  until  he 
rejoined  her;  and  together,  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  they  re- 
turned to  the  Wygrams.  But  he  was  very  pale;  and  all  this 
thing  around  him  was  phantasmal — the  din  and  splendor  were 
alike  bewildering;  he  looked  on,  but  his  eyes  were  blind. 

Sabina  began  to  question  Mrs.  W^ygram  about  going,  and  this 
somewhat  recalled  him  to  himself.  Nay,  she  spoke  to  him  too, 
and  with  no  studied  coldness,  but  rather  with  a  certain  timidity. 
Had  she  heard,  and  yot  was  not  angry  ?  Or  was  it  that  she  was 
too  gentle  to  be  angry  ?  She  would  rather  pretend  not  to  have 
heard  at  all. 

Very  soon  the  Wygrams  and  Sabina  left,  and  for  him  the  rose- 
scented  ball  was  over,  lie  returned  no  more  to  those  brilliant 
rooms,  with  their  blazing  candelabra,  and  beautiful  dresses,  and 
gay  music.    He  put  on  his  thin  summer  overcoat,  and  went  away 


AN   ALLIANCE.  127 

listlessly — and  yet  with  a  kind  of  excitement  in  his  brain — through 
the  dim  gas-lit  streets — down  by  Gloucester  Road,  and  Cornwali 
Gardens,  and  back  by  Victoria  Road,  and  so,  and  stealthily,  through 
Kensington  Square.  The  lights  were  already  out  in  the  well- 
known  house.  And  then  he  wandered  away  up  in  the  Notting 
Ilill  direction,  until  he  reached  his  own  home ;  and  there  he  went 
into  the  studio,  and  turned  up  the  gas,  and  threw  off  his  coat,  and 
sat  down.  What  had  happened?  And  right  well  he  knew;  no 
further  disguise  or  pretence  was  possible  now ;  his  inmost  soul 
had  spoken — to  himself,  if  not  to  her. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

AN  ALLIANCE. 

One  morning  Sabina  and  Janie  were  engaged  on  an  errand  in 
Richmond  Road,  Old  Brompton,  when  a  hansom  cab  that  had 
come  rattling  along  behind  them  was  pulled  up,  and  the  occupant 
stepped  out.     Sabina  happened  to  turn  her  head. 

"  Mr.  Foster !" 

And,  indeed,  it  was  Mr.  Foster  —  brisk,  smiling,  complacent; 
very  smartly  dressed  and  gloved,  too,  though  the  tall  hat  made 
him  look  a  little  bit  unfamiliar. 

"This  is  a  stroke  of  luck,"  said  he.  "I  was  driving  down  to 
the  sports  at  Lillie  Bridge,  little  expecting  to  have  this  pleasure." 

"  Oh,  but  you  can't  tell  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  able  to  get 
about  again,"  she  said,  with  great  earnestness.  "  Indeed,  indeed, 
I  am  very  glad  !" 

"  There  is  not  much  to  boast  of  yet,"  he  said,  lightly.  "  I  don't 
think  I  should  like  to  back  myself  to  run  the  Open  Quarter  Mile 
in  forty-eight  seconds.  That  was  done  on  Saturday,  at  this  very 
place.  But  we  are  getting  on.  And  at  any  rate,  a  hansom  is 
more  comfortable  than  a  Bath-chair.  I  am  just  making  the  fort- 
unes of  the  London  cabbies  at  present.  Well,  now,  I  won't  detain 
you,  for  I  saw  you  were  walking  quickly ;  but  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  if  I  may  call  at  Kensington  Square — to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, you  know." 

"To  make  my  acquaintance?"  she  repeated;  she  did  not  un- 
derstand. 


128  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  Why,  yes,"  lie  continued,  cheerfully.  "You've  only  known 
me  as  a  cripple — in  a  Bath-chair  and  a  pot  hat.  I  want  to  intro- 
duce myself  in  a  new  character.  May  I  come  to  see  you — and 
Mrs.  ^Yygl■am  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  very  pleased  indeed,"  Sabina  answered, 
with  evident  sincerity.  "Why,  you  don't  understand — it  is  like 
getting  well  one's  self  to  see  you  as  you  are  now.  Don't  you  feel 
very  happy  about  it  ?    I  do." 

Her  sympathy  was  exceedingly  frank,  and  her  pleasure  on  wit- 
nessing this  transformation  obvious  enough.  Indeed,  in  her  sur- 
prise and  gratification  over  this  sudden  encounter,  she  had  entire- 
ly forgotten  the  little  tentative  embassy  that  Mr.  Foster's  mother 
had  undertaken,  and  when  he  asked  her  to  say  on  which  day  he 
might  call  at  Kensington  Square,  she  instantly  named  the  follow- 
ing afternoon. 

"Sabie,"  her  companion  remonstrated,  "you  will  be  at  the 
Charity  Organization  !" 

"  I  shall  be  home  by  half-past  five,"  was  the  answer,  "  and  very 
glad  of  a  cup  of  tea — because  sometimes  the  proceedings  are  not 
quite  unanimous." 

"What!"  Mr.  Foster  struck  in.  "You  don't  mean  to  say  that 
those  good  people  have  an  occasional  bickering  ?  Well,  I  should 
like  to  be  there — to  lend  you  a  helping  hand." 

Sabina  laughed. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  he  asked,  innocently. 

"I  think  you  would  make  a  strange  figure  at  a  meeting  of  the 
Charity  Organization  Society,"  she  remarked. 

"I've  got  an  English  tongue  in  my  head — I  could  speak  my 
mind,"  he  said,  bluntly.  "  However,  I  see  you  want  to  be  off. 
To-morrow  at  half-past  five,  then." 

And  he  got  into  the  hansom  again  and  drove  away,  while  they 
turned  out  of  this  thoroughfare  and  made  for  the  Fulham  Road. 
As  they  were  going  through  the  Boltons,  Sabina  said, 

"I  am  so  glad  we  met  him.    I  feel  quite  happy  about  it." 

"  I  don't  see  why  his  recovering  from  an  accident  should  be  of 
so  much  importance  to  you,"  Janie  said,  rather  coldly, 

"  You  forget  that  I  was  mainly  the  cause  of  the  accident,"  Sa- 
bina answered,  but  in  her  gentle  way. 

"  We  will  not  discuss  that,  for  we  are  not  likely  to  agree." 
And  then  Janie  added,  sharply,  "  And  look  at  the  way  he  occupies 


AN   ALLIANCE.  129 

his  time,  now  that  he  can  get  about  again — driving  in  hansoms 
to  places  of  amusement — his  onl}'  thought  for  himself.  Why,  Sa- 
bie,  I  can't  understand  the  interest  you  take  in  that  man.  There 
never  were  two  human  beings  so  entirely  dissimilar  in  everything. 
When  I  think  of  the  life  he  leads — sports  and  pleasures  and  pas- 
times from  week's  end  to  week's  end ;  and  the  life  that  you  lead 
— working  hard,  and  all  for  other  people — " 

"  Janie,  Janie,"  Sabina  said,  with  a  laugh,  "  why  will  you  be  so 
violently  prejudiced  ?  Haven't  I  told  you  a  hundred  times  that 
what  is  right  for  one  person  is  not  necessarily  right  for  every 
one?  Different  people  have  different  hobbies;  and  I  happen  to 
have  mine.  Do  you  think,  if  I  could  ride  like  Mr.  Foster,  and 
play  cricket,  and  so  on,  I  should  not  be  intensely  interested  in 
those  things  ?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Janie,  with  cutting  irony.  "I  can  quite  im- 
agine Sabina  Zembra  a  champion  slayer  of  pigeons.  Two  to  one, 
bar  one.     That's  just  like  yon,  Sabie !" 

When  Mr.  Fred  Foster  called  at  Kensington  Square  the  follow- 
ing afternoon  he  was  even  more  scrupulously  neat  in  his  attire; 
and  the  slight  lameness  from  which  he  still  suffered  served  as  an 
excuse  for  the  display  of  a  walking-stick,  the  head  of  which  was 
of  elaborately  carved  jade.  There  was  no  embarrassment  about 
him  over  this  his  first  visit  to  the  house ;  he  was  most  pleasant  to 
Mrs.  Wygram  (Janie  had  gone  out) ;  he  was  anxious  to  hear  from 
Sabina  of  the  proceedings  at  the  Charitable  Organization  Society  ; 
and  he  facetiously  remarked  that,  although  he  had  intended  to  in- 
troduce himself  as  a  new  acquaintance,  it  was  impossible  to  keep 
up  the  pretence — he  preferred  to  acknowledge  that  he  had  fallen 
among  old  friends. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  he  said, "  the  memory  of  a  lioliday  place 
and  the  time  you  spent  there  is  always  far  finer  than  the  thing 
itself,  and  fortunately  so.  Don't  you  ever  think  of  those  morn- 
ings at  Brighton,  Miss  Zembra — out  at  the  end  of  the  Pier,  you 
know  ;  the  fresh  wind,  and  clear  skies,  and  the  music  ;  the  young 
people  about;  and  you  beginning  to  think  that  when  hinch-time 
comes  along  you  will  be  quite  ready?  Very  jolly  mornings  they 
were,  weren't  they  ?  And  when  you  look  back  at  them  they  seem 
very  bright  somehow — a  poetical  halo,  I  suppose?  And  that,"  lie 
continued,  warming  to  his  subject,  for  he  was  evidently  bent  on 
making  a  good  impression,  in  his  self-complacent  way — "  that  is 
6* 


130  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

what  I  should  like  to  have  in  my  composition — just  enough  poetry 
to  make  things  look  a  little  better  than  they  are.  It's  no  great 
harm  to  go  on  thinking  all  your  geese  are  swans,  so  long  as  you 
don't  find  it  out.  Of  course,  I  shouldn't  want  to  have  as  much 
poetry  as  would  drive  one  into  publishing  it,  and  running  the 
racket  of  the  critics,  and  becoming  miserable  if  the  public  wouldn't 
look  at  you.  Oh  no ;  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  take  a  fairly 
roseate  view  of  things,  but  for  my  own  use  ;  I  shouldn't  care  a  rap 
what  other  people  thought  of  them.  As  for  writing  real  poetry, 
now — well,  I  don't  know — I  suppose  it  may  be  interesting  to  be 
a  famous  person — in  your  own  lifetime,  I  mean — people  stare  at 
you,  if  that  is  any  good  to  you — but  beyond  that  what  is  there  in 
fame  ?  I  don't  see  that  it  would  be  of  any  advantage  to  me  that 
people  should  remember  my  name  two  hundred  years  after  my 
death." 

His  apologia  pro  vita  sua  would  sometimes  come  in  thus  in  the 
most  unexpected  fashion ;  but  indeed  it  was  unnecessary,  for  Sa- 
bina  had  a  wide  experience  of  diverse  modes  of  life,  and  she  was 
tolerant  to  a  degree.  If  he  seemed  to  spend  a  good  deal  of  his 
time  up  at  Lord's  and  at  the  Oval,  why  should  he  not,  on  those 
pleasant  summer  afternoons  ?  He  was  harming  no  one,  as  far  as 
she  knew. 

He  did  not  overstay  his  welcome ;  and  it  was  clear  that  on  this 
first  visit  he  had  managed  to  somewhat  mitigate  Mrs.  Wygram's 
prejudice  against  him  ;  for  it  was  with  no  great  asperity  that 
she  said,  when  he  had  gone, 

"  Sabie,  don't  you  think  it  just  a  little  awkward  that  Mr.  Foster 
should  come  here?" 

"  Why,  then?"  the  girl  said,  with  some  surprise. 

"  Well,  you  know  it  is  not  such  a  long  time  since  he  asked  you 
to  be  his  wife — indirectly,  at  least.  And  a  refusal  is  supposed  to 
mean  something.  I  should  not  wonder,  now,  if  you  encourage 
him  to  call,  and  receive  him  in  that  frank  way  you  have  with  ev- 
erybody, he  may  begin  to  imagine  that  you  would  not  be  sorry  if 
he  repeated  his  offer." 

Sabina  reddened  a  little,  but  she  said, 

"Dear  Mrs.  Wygrara,  you  must  not  put  such  fancies  into  inno- 
cent people's  heads.  I  am  sure  he  is  thinking  of  no  such  thing. 
He  is  as  busy  in  his  own  way  as  I  am  in  mine ;  especially  now 
that  he  can  get  about  again." 


AN    ALLIANCE.  131 

Busy  as  lie  was,  however,  Mr.  Foster  found  time  to  pay  several 
visits  to  Kensington  Square  ;  and  he  was  very  straightforward  in 
asking  Sabina  when  she  was  likely  to  be  found  at  home.  lie 
seemed  exceedingly  desirous  of  establishing  affectionate  relations 
between  her  and  the  old  lady  in  Buckinghamshire.  One  day  he 
brought  with  him  a  magnificent  basket  of  strawberries. 

"This  is  a  little  present  from  my  mother,  Miss  Zerabra,"  ho 
said,  "and  she  wants  you  to  know  that  they  are  her  own  growing 
— of  course  she  is  rather  proud  of  them." 

"  That  is  very  kind,  I  am  sure,"  Sabina  said.  "Will  you  give 
her  my  best  thanks,  and  say  how  good  it  was  of  her  to  think  of 
me?" 

"  If  you  wouldn't  mind  sending  her  a  note  yourself,  Miss  Zem- 
bra?"  he  suggested.     "  It  would  please  her  so  much." 

"Oh  yes,  I  will,"  Sabina  said  at  once;  "give  me  the  address." 

And  so  the  brief  note  was  written  and  despatched  to  Bucking- 
hamshire. Of  course,  it  needed  no  reply ;  but,  all  the  same,  the  re- 
ply came,  in  the  shape  of  a  very  long  and  affectionate  letter,  in 
which  the  old  lady  ventured  to  hope  that  she  had  done  no  harm 
by  a  certain  indiscreet  disclosure  made  at  Brighton.  Moreover, 
enclosed  in  the  letter  was  a  photograph  of  the  garden  where  the 
strawberries  were  grown,  with  Mrs.  Foster  seated  in  an  arm-chair, 
and  the  old  gentleman,  scissors  in  hand,  standing  at  the  door  of 
the  vine-houses.  It  was  a  pretty  and  peaceful-looking  picture; 
and  Sabina,  in  acknowledging  the  receipt,  said  so.  What,  then, 
should  arrive — even  by  return  of  post — but  an  invitation — a  gen- 
eral invitation — to  Sabina  to  come  down  to  this  peaceful  retreat 
whenever  she  felt  tired,  or  ill,  or  depressed,  with  abundant  assur- 
ances that  she  would  be  treated  with  the  most  considerate  care. 
A  more  than  friendly  letter,  nicely  worded ;  and  Mr.  Fred  Foster 
was  good  enough  to  indorse  that  invitation  eagerly,  and  to  say  the 
old  lady's  heart  would  just  be  filled  with  joy  if  Miss  Zenibra  would 
take  her  at  her  word,  and  go  down  to  see  her  when  the  opportu- 
nity arose. 

Another  point  that  he  went  back  upon  again  and  again  was 
the  necessity  of  Miss  Zcmbra  introducing  a  little  more  amuse- 
ment into  her  life.  He  had  nothing  to  say  against  the  self-ap- 
pointed labors  that  she  had  devoted  herself  to;  only  that  she 
•was  too  assiduous.  All  work  and  no  play,  he  insisted,  was  the 
right  thing  for  no  one;  and  he  appealed  to  Mrs.Wygrain.     Why 


132  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

should  not  Miss  Zembra  have  gone  up  to  see  the  Eton  vs.  Harrow 
match  at  Lord's  ? — for  indeed  he  had  been  desirous  of  escorting 
the  whole  party  thither. 

"But  I  find  my  amusement  in  my  work,  such  as  it  is,"  Sabina 
said,  good-naturedly.  "  I  dou't  know  that  I  should  care  to  sit 
and  look  on  at  a  number  of  boys  knocking  a  ball  about.  Perhaps 
I  might,  though.  Young  English  lads,  healthy  and  well-built 
and  active,  are  always  nice  to  look  at.  And  that  reminds  me,  I 
am  going  down  to  see  my  boys  on  the  Arethusa  and  Chichester 
next  Wednesday ;  it  is  the  annual  inspection.  Now,  is  not  that 
a  sufficient  holiday,  Mr.  Foster  ?  And  I  am  going  with  a  clear 
conscience ;  I  shall  not  have  to  drag  either  Mrs.  Wygram  or  Janie 
with  me;  Mrs.  Tremenheere  is  going,  and  I  have  merely  to  pick 
her  up  at  Charing  Cross  Pier.  Now,  is  not  that  enough  of  a 
holiday?  A  pleasant  sail  down  the  river,  luncheon  on  board  the 
Arethusa,  w^atching  the  boys  go  through  their  drill,  presenting 
the  prizes,  and  then  back  to  town." 

And  not  only  did  Mr.  Fred  Foster  express  approval,  but  also  he 
was  curious  to  learn  further  and  minute  details  about  this  pro- 
jected excursion.  What  was  the  institution  ?  Who  were  the 
managers?  Who  were  likely  to  be  there  on  Wednesday?  How 
were  invitations  come  at  ? 

"  You  know,"  said  he,  "  if  my  little  arrangement  about  the 
Leicestershire  Cup  comes  oS  I  shall  become  a  subscriber." 

"  I  think  we'd  rather  have  the  money  now,"  Sabina  said,  "  and 
then  you  won't  risk  losing  it." 

"  But  it's  out  of  the  profits — if  any — that  the  subscription 
would  come,"  he  then  explained. 

Soon,  however,  he  was  to  be  of  assistance  to  her  in  a  more  im- 
mediate way.  One  evening,  about  half-past  six,  he  strolled  along 
to  Kensington  Square,  on  the  off-chance  that  she  had  returned 
home  somewhat  before  dinner-time ;  a  message  from  the  old  lady 
in  Buckinghamshire  was  the  ostensible  excuse  for  his  calling.  He 
had  scarcely  entered  the  square  than  he  perceived  her  at  the  far- 
ther corner  of  it,  coming  north ;  so  he  leisurely  went  on  to  meet 
her. 

"  Oh,"  Mr.  Foster,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  in  her  frank 
way;  "  I  want  to  see  if  you  can  give  me  some  help." 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  will  if  I  can,"  he  said,  cheerfully. 

"It's  rather  a  sad  story,"  she  said,  plunging  into  the  matter  at 


AN    ALLIANCE.  133 

once.  "  A  poor  widow  I  know  has  an  only  son,  a  lad  about  fif- 
teen, and  he  has  got  into  trouble.  It  isn't  merely  the  loss  of  his 
wages  for  the  moment — though  that  is  something  to  her — it  is 
his  future,  and  the  difBculty  of  getting  another  situation  for  him, 
that  is  worrying  the  poor  woman.  This  is  how  it  happened : 
He  is  employed  in  a  livery-stable  keeper's  place  down  in  Earl's 
Court,  lie  had  to  take  a  whip  into  the  clerk's  office  to  leave  it 
there.  Well,  a  customer  had  been  paying  a  bill,  and  the  change 
was  two  shillings ;  but  he  had  neglected  to  pick  up  the  change, 
and  he  and  the  clerk  came  to  the  door  of  the  office,  for  they  were 
talking  together.  The  boy  goes  past  them  into  the  office  to  leave 
the  whip  ;  he  sees  the  florin  lying  on  the  counter;  the  temptation 
is  too  great — he  slips  it  into  his  pocket.  Then  the  man  remem- 
bers he  has  not  picked  up  his  change  ;  turns,  and  finds  it  is  gone ; 
the  boy  is  challenged,  and  at  once  gives  up  the  florin.  Well,  of 
course,  there  is  no  excuse ;  but,  of  course,  most  people  have  done 
things  they  are  sorry  for;  and  I  am  certain  this  boy  has  nothing 
of  the  inborn  thief  in  him — it  was  a  sudden  temptation,  and  he 
gave  way.  There  was  a  talk  of  prosecution  ;  1  went  to  his  mas- 
ter, and  he  consented  to  stop  that,  only  he  insisted  on  dismissing 
the  lad ;  so  that  there  he  is  now,  without  a  situation  and  without 
a  character  or  reference.  Can  you  get  some  kind-hearted  man  to 
overlook  this  one  slip  and  give  the  boy  another  trial  ?" 

She  had  an  admirably  business-like  way  of  putting  a  case; 
perhaps  she  was  used  to  it.  As  for  Fred  Foster,  he  paused ;  had 
he  not  always  been  telling  her  that  she  needed  a  man's  shrewd- 
ness and  firmness  to  assist  her — that  she  was  always  running,  the 
risk  of  being  imposed  upon  ? 

"  If  I  could  see  the  lad,"  said  he,  *'  I  think  I  could  tell  by  the 
look  of  him  whether  his  story  will  wash." 

"  Oh,  but  he  confesses  1" 

"  Well,  I  could  tell  whether  I  should  care  to  ask  somebody  to 
give  him  a  fresh  start." 

"Would  you  mind  coming  and  seeing  him  now?"  she  said, 
promptly.  "His  mother  lives  not  ten  minutes'  walk  from  here, 
and  he  is  at  home  just  now,  I  know." 

"  But  if  you  are  kept  late  for  dinner  ?" 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing,"  she  said,  cheerfully.  "They  never  wait 
for  me  ;  that's  all  right." 

So  they  set  out — she  walking  at  a  studiously  moderate  pace ; 


134  SABINA    ZEMBRA, 

and  he  seemed  a  little  proud  and  pleased  to  have  so  fair  a  com- 
panion. And  how  did  he  entertain  her  ?  Well,  there  had  been 
a  smoking  concert  at  Mildenhull,  in  Suffolk,  given  by  certain 
"bookies"  to  their  friends,  who  were  at  the  Newmarket  race 
meeting;  and  he  had  been  present  on  this  particularly  festive 
occasion ;  and  he  gave  her  a  fairly  vivid  and  humorous  account 
of  the  evening.  He  was  very  honest:  he  never  sought  to  conceal 
anything  about  himself  or  his  companions,  and  they  seemed  to 
have  been  pretty  gay  at  the  White  Hart  Hotel.  In  the  middle 
of  the  story  Sabina  bowed  to  some  one  passing,  and  Mr.  Foster, 
raising  his  hat,  as  in  duty  bound,  merely  glanced  at  the  stranger. 

"  That  is  Mr.  Lindsay,  the  artist  whom  I  have  spoken  to  you 
about,"  said  Sabina. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  he  said,  indifferently.  "  An  odd-looking  creat- 
ure— gaunt,  white-faced,  and  black-haired — seems  to  have  come 
out  of  Byron's  poems — those  artists  always  do  like  to  look  sin- 
gular." 

"  But  you  must  not  say  anything  like  that  about  Mr.  Lindsay," 
said  Sabina,  gently,  "  for  he  is  a  particular  friend  of  mine — of 
ours." 

When  they  reached  the  widow  woman's  scantily  furnished 
lodgings  the  peccant  youth  seemed  almost  paralyzed  with  fear; 
he  imagined  that  this  appearance  of  a  stranger  could  only  mean 
prosecution,  with  its  unknown  horrors.  But  Fred  Foster  speedily 
reassured  him.     After  a  sharp  scanning  of  the  boy's  face,  he  said, 

"  Look  here,  my  lad,  you've  had  a  narrow  escape,  and  I  hope 
it  will  be  a  warning  to  you  all  your  life.  This  lady  has  told  me 
the  whole  story ;  and  I  think  I  can  get  you  a  situation,  where 
you  will  have  a  fair  trial — only  it  will  be  out  of  town — " 

"Oh,  he  will  not  mind  that,  sir,"  the  mother  interposed,  quick- 
ly, "  if  only  he  can  get  another  chance.  Poor  lad,  he  feels  it 
awful,  sir." 

"  Well,  if  you  mean  to  keep  on  the  square,"  he  said,  still  ad- 
dressing the  boy,  "  I'll  see  what  I  can  do.  Get  your  kit  together, 
and  meet  me  at  Victoria  Station  to-morrow  morning  at  10.40. 
Will  you  remember?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  will  take  you  down  to  Epsom,  and  get  you  a  place  there, 
where  nothing  will  be  known  of  what  has  happened.  The  rest  is 
for  yourself;  you  will  have  a  fair  chance  of  getting  on." 


AN   ALLIANCE.  135 

"  Yes,  sir — thank  you,  sir."  The  boy  was  too  frightened  to 
say  more. 

"  Well,  now,  that  is  very  kind  of  you  to  take  so  much  trouble," 
Sabina  £aid,  when  they  were  come  out  again.  "To  go  away 
down  to  Epsom — " 

"  Don't  give  me  unnecessary  credit,  Miss  Zembra,"  he  said  at 
once.  "  Going  down  to  Epsom  never  comes  amiss  to  me — I  can 
always  put  in  a  day  in  that  quarter,  sometimes  to  my  own  advan- 
tage. And  I  will  get  your  stable-boy  a  place  easily  enough  ;  poor 
young  devil,  he  seems  frightened  out  of  his  wits.  I  suppose  his 
mother  has  been  nagging  at  him.  What  a  fearful  thing  it  would 
be  if  everything  was  to  be  treasured  up  against  us,  and  no  for- 
giveness possible.  I  don't  mean  you,"  he  added,  hastily — "  I  was 
talking  about  men.  And — and — did  I  tell  you  how  we  wound 
up  the  evening  at  Mildenhall  ?" 

Sabina  thought  he  had  not ;  and  so — he  discoursing  the  while 
on  these  pretty  goings-on — they  walked  equably  back  to  Kensing- 
ton Square. 

It  was  only  a  day  or  two  after  this  occurrence  that  Walter 
Lindsay  happened  to  meet  Janie  Wygram,  who  with  her  mother 
had  gone  to  pay  an  afternoon  call  at  an  artist's  house.  Wander- 
ing about  the  big  studio,  as  all  of  them  did,  lie  had  little  difficulty 
in  getting  the  chance  of  saying  a  few  words  to  Janie  by  herself. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  rather  diffidently,  "  that  it  was  the  Mr. 
Foster  you  told  me  of  whom  I  saw  walking  with  Miss  Zembra 
the  other  day  ?" 

Janie  instantly  turned  her  sympathetic  and  troubled  eyes  tow- 
ards him,  and  then  lowered  them. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  seen  them,"  she  said.  "  But  no 
doubt  it  was  Mr.  Foster.  Sabie  told  me  he  had  gone  with  her  to 
see  some  people  she's  interested  in.  AVcll,  what  do  you  think  of 
him  ?" 

She  hoped  he  would  say  something  bitter  and  savage. 

"  I  only  caught  a  moment's  glimpse  of  him,"  he  answered, 
evasively.     "  He  goes  a  good  deal  to  Kensington  Square  ?" 

lie  endeavored  to  speak  in  an  indifferent  way  ;  but  Janie  was 
not  deceived. 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  there  several  times  of  late ;"  and  tlicrc  was 
a  little  touch  of  indignation  in  her  tone  as  she  added,  "And  do 
you  know  how  he  has  acquired  such  an  influence  over  Sabie? 


136  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

Well,  I'll  tell  you — it's  his  impudence — pure  impudence.  Sabie 
has  never  been  treated  in  that  free-and-easy  way  before ;  and  she 
doesn't  understand  it,  and  gets  bewildered,  and  tliinks  there  must 
be  something  in  him  because  he  is  cool  and  complacent  and  mas- 
terful towards  her.  And  to  think  that  Sabie — a  girl  like  Sabie — 
should  be  imposed  upon  by  pure  impudence  !" 

But  Janie  Wygrara  could  scarcely  be  regarded  as  a  dispassion- 
ate judge. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  BETROTHAL. 

Among  decorous  people  it  is  considered  that  an  unmarried 
young  lady  should  not  drive  alone  in  a  hansom  ;  but  Sabina  was 
a  very  busy  woman,  and  besides,  she  considered  herself  elderly ; 
so  it  was  in  a  hansom  that  on  this  brilliant  July  morning  she 
drove  along  to  Charing  Cross  Pier.  Almost  at  the  same  moment 
Mrs.  Tremenheere  arrived  in  her  carriage ;  and  the  two  ladies 
■went  down  to  the  special  steamer  that  was  awaiting  the  party. 
As  they  stepped  on  board,  the  first  person  to  come  forward  and 
greet  Sabina  was  Mr.  Fred  Foster. 

Now  Mr.  Foster,  though  his  sympathies  in  certain  directions 
were  distinctly  limited,  had  a  good  deal  of  natural  sagacity ;  and 
instantly  he  saw — from  the  look  of  surprise,  or  more  than  sur- 
prise, in  Sabina's  face — that  in  planning  this  artful  little  strata- 
gem he  had  made  a  mistake.  And  as  quickly  as  he  could  he 
made  his  apology. 

"  I  did  not  know  until  last  night,"  he  said,  "  that  I  had  secured 
an  invitation ;  for  I  have  been  down  in  Buckinghamshire — my 
first  trip  there  since — since  the  little  accident.  And  you  have 
told  me  so  much  about  these  training-ships,  Miss  Zembra — I 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  opportunity — I  was  very  glad  when 
I  found  I  was  to  have  the  chance  of  seeing  them." 

Sabina  somewhat  formally  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Tremen- 
heere ;  and  he  was  very  humble  and  civil  in  getting  them  seats 
where  the  awning  would  shelter  them  from  the  sun  ;  and  there 
was  no  suggestion  in  his  manner  that  he  had  come  hither  with 
any  dark  design.  Moreover,  Sabina  was  not  one  quick  to  take 
offence ;  perhaps  it  was  really  his  interest  in  the  Arethusa  and 


A    BETROTHAL.  137 

the  Chichester  that  had  prompted  his  coming ;  and  if  so,  did  not 
he  deserve  a  little  encouragement  and  friendliness  ?  He  did  not 
in  any  way  whatever  seek  to  thrust  his  society  on  the  two  ladies. 
But  he  was  within  call.  And  as  Mrs.  Tremenheere  was  devoting 
her  whole  and  rapt  attention  to  the  Bisiiop  of  Sudbury — who 
was  discoursing  to  her  of  the  iniquity  of  spending  money  on  or- 
chids— Fred  Foster  came  gradually  to  be  Sabina's  attendant  and 
companion,  when  no  one  else  claimed  her. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  sail  down  the  river:  flags  flying,  a  juve- 
nile brass  band  playing  from  time  to  time  in  the  forward  part  of 
the  steamer,  the  lads  on  the  training-ships  that  they  passed  giving 
them  a  hearty  cheer  as  they  went  by. 

"  If  helping  in  a  good  work  were  always  as  enjoyable  as  this, 
there  would  be  lots  at  it.  I  feel  very  virtuous  indeed,"  he  re- 
marked, cheerfully. 

"  I  feel  very  serious,"  was  her  rejoinder,  "  for  they  have  fixed 
on  me  to  give  away  the  prizes ;  and  though  I  get  on  very  well 
among  the  boys  when  they  are  by  themselves,  I  don't  like  having 
a  lot  of  spectators  looking  on." 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  of  any  assistance  to  you,"  he  said  (and 
Mrs.  Tremenheere  was  entirely  given  over  to  her  dear  bishop  ;  he 
could  address  himself  directly,  if  modestly  and  respectfully,  to  Sa- 
bina's eyes).  "I  feel  myself  such  a  useless  creature  in  the  world 
whenever  I  meet  you.  Ah,  I  wish  you  heard  my  mother  speak 
of  you.  Miss  Zembra.  It  was  Miss  Zembra  this  and  Miss  Zembra 
that,  all  the  time  I  was  down.  I  think  she  would  consent  to  be 
ill  if  she  thought  you  would  come  and  tend  her  a  little.  She 
was  talking  about  a  poor  woman — an  imaginary  woman — lying 
sick  and  hopeless  and  friendless;  and  she  said  that  to  such  a 
poor  creature,  when  you  went  into  the  room,  your  face  must  ap- 
pear to  be  the  face  of  an  angel.  And  she  hasn't  forgotten  your 
promise  to  go  and  see  her — " 

Sabina  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Perhaps  there  wasn't  quite  a  promise,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  but 
I  fancy  that  in  her  case  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought.  Oh 
yes ;  and  she  has  settled  upon  the  room  that  you  are  to  have 
when  yon  go  down — it  is  a  curious  little  box,  all  by  itself;  but 
it  overlooks  the  garden,  and  it  is  very  quiet,  and  she  says  you 
will  be  so  much  the  better  for  absolute  rest  and  quiet  after  your 
hard  work  in  London." 


138  SABIXA   ZEMBRA. 

*'  I  am  sure  she  is  very  kind,"  Sabina  was  bound  to  say. 

**  I  hadn't  quite  such  a  good  time  with  the  Pater,"  her  com- 
panion continued,  with  a  rueful  smile.  "  No,  he  was  rather  rough 
on  me.  He  did  not  think  much  of  my  invention  as  likely  to 
increase  the  sum  of  human  happiness." 

A  glance  of  inquiry  asked  him  to  explain. 

"Oh,  didn't  I  tell  you?  Did  you  not  hear  of  my  invention?" 
he  said.  *'  Well,  it  was  in  this  way.  You  see,  after  you  left 
Brighton,  it  was  pretty  slow  down  there  for  mc,  and  I  had  to  do 
a  good  deal  of  steady  thinking  all  by  myself.  And  then  it  was 
that  an  idea  occurred  to  me  which  will  enable  me  to  go  down  to 
the  latest  ages  as  a  benefactor  of  mankind.  You  know  how  awk- 
ward it  is  for  a  lady,  when  she  is  riding  alone  in  the  country,  to 
mount  her  horse  by  herself — supposing  she  has  to  get  down  to 
tighten  the  girths — and  there  is  no  stile  or  gate  handy.  Well, 
now,  my  invention  is  a  small  ladder  of  rope  that  can  easily  be 
folded  up  and  fastened  to  the  saddle,  and  there  she  is,  independ- 
ent !  She  has  neither  to  trust  herself  to  the  clumsiness  of  some 
country  lout  nor  walk  along  to  the  nearest  cottage  for  the  loan 
of  a  chair;  she  can  get  down  or  up  for  herself,  as  she  pleases. 
And,  would  you  believe  it,  the  Pater  saw  nothing  in  that  idea  to 
add  to  the  gayety  of  nations;  and  when  I  talked  to  him  about 
Galileo,  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  and  George  Stephenson,  he  used 
the  most  reprehensible  language.  Great  discoveries  are  always 
treated  like  that.  It  isn't  until  after  we  are  dead  that  the  public 
find  out  how  much  they  owe  to  us." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  try  the  old  gentleman's  patience  a  little  ?" 
she  said,  venturing  to  look  np  at  him. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?"  he  said.  "  Begin  and  work  some  of 
those  farms?  I  could  not  make  as  much  out  of  them  as  the  pres- 
ent tenants,  and  they're  all  skating  on  the  edge  of  bankruptcy. 
He  thinks  I  ought  to  do  something,  and  I  want  to  know  what  I 
am  to  do." 

"  Are  there  no  beggars  at  your  gate  ?"  Sabina  said,  gently. 

"  There  are,"  he  answered,  with  cheerful  promptitude ;  "  and 
what's  more,  there  will  be  beggars  all  over  the  place  if  farming 
doesn't  become  more  profitable.  But  don't  say  anything  against 
me  this  time,  Miss  Zembra.  Surely  Fm  engaged  in  a  good  and 
charitable  work  at  the  present  moment.  Fm  actually  going  down 
to  have  luncheon  on  board  the  Arethusa.'''' 


A   BETROTHAL.  139 

And  this  sardonic  self-depreciation  of  his  pleased  SabinA  a  good 
deal  more  than  any  affected  interest  or  other  hypocrisy  ;  he  seemed 
to  be  constantly  saying  to  her,  "  Well,  I'm  not  much  of  a  fellow, 
but  you  are  very  good-natured — you  won't  be  too  hard." 

A  right  brave  sight  was  that  that  met  their  eyes  when  they 
reached  their  destination ;  for  the  yards  of  the  great  vessel  were 
manned  by  near  a  thousand  lads  and  boys;  and  loud  and  long 
was  the  cheering  that  greeted  the  visitors.  And  then,  when  they 
had  got  on  board  and  began  to  look  round  the  ship,  it  was  but 
natural  that  Mr.  Foster  should  remain  with  the  small  party  whom 
he  had  accompanied  on  the  way  down ;  and  therefore,  when  the 
crowd  went  below  for  lunch,  he  assumed  the  right  of  attending 
upon  the  two  ladies,  and  very  assiduously  and  cheerfully  did  he 
execute  the  task.  Mrs.  Tremenheere  was  rather  pleased  with  the 
young  man.  And  she  was  interested  in  him ;  for  she  had  heard 
of  the  accident,  and  of  Sabina's  care  of  him  subsequently.  She 
thought  he  was  rather  good-looking,  and  distinctly  well  dressed, 
and  if  he  carried  his  frankness  of  manner  to  the  verge  of  a  certain 
cool  audacity,  she  reflected  that  Sabina  and  he  had  been  thrown 
so  much  into  each  other's  society  that  now  he  probably  regarded 
her  in  the  light  of  an  old  friend. 

After  lunch  the  visitors  went  on  deck  again,  and  the  business 
of  the  day  began.  Very  proud,  indeed,  was  Sabina  over  the  smart 
and  seaman-like  way  in  which  the  lads  went  through  their  drill ; 
and  she  spied  out  here  and  there  among  them  a  particular  favorite 
of  her  own  ;  and  what  officer  could  check  the  return  glances  of 
recognition  ?  Of  course,  she  wore  the  silver  anchor  at  her  neck. 
And  she  was  as  pleased  at  the  proficiency  of  these  young  sailors 
as  if  she  had  trained  them  all  herself;  and  she  was  glad  that  the 
people  clapped  their  hands  when  something  particularly  prompt 
was  done ;  and  she  made  bold  to  ask  Mr.  Foster  if  the  country 
should  not  be  grateful  to  an  institution  that  took  the  neglected 
boys  of  London  and  turned  them  into  fine,  smart,  healthy-looking, 
bright-eyed  fellows  of  whom  England  might  one  day  be  in  urgent 
need.  Then  came  her  own  share  in  the  programme — the  distri- 
bution of  the  prizes  and  medals;  and  as  each  blushing  recipient 
came  forward  —  the  best  swimmer,  the  most  popular  boy,  the 
smartest  lad  aloft,  and  so  forth — Sabina  managed  to  say  a  kindly 
word  or  two  to  him  as  she  put  the  j)rize  into  his  hand  or  pitmed 
the  medal  on  his  breast.     And,  of  course,  Mr.  Foster  was  at  her 


140  SABINA   ZEMBKA. 

side  all  this  time,  and  perhaps  his  little  underhand  jokes  rather 
tended  to  give  her  confidence;  anyhow,  her  tinkers  did  not  tremble 
much  as  she  pinned  on  the  medals ;  and  her  eyes — that  could 
express  approval  very  well,  indeed — said  as  much  as  her  words. 

"Bravo,  Johnny;  you've  done  it  again,"  she  said  to  one  of  the 
prize-winners  ;  and  she  turned  to  Fred  Foster :  "  That  is  one  of 
my  own  boys." 

Indeed,  Sabina  was  so  highly  pleased  with  the  success  of  the 
whole  of  the  day's  performance  that,  when  they  had  seen  the  last 
of  the  boat-racing,  and  were  returning  to  town  again  on  board  the 
steamer,  she  was  in  a  far  more  animated  mood  than  Mr.  Foster 
had  ever  seen  before;  and  she  was  particularly  gracious  to  him- 
self. He  had  been  her  companion,  in  a  way ;  he  had  stood  by 
her  through  that  public  ceremony ;  and  now  tliat  it  was  all  over, 
it  was  comfortable  to  sit  here  in  idleness,  and  listen  to  his  half- 
facetious  comments  about  men  and  things.  And  what  should 
hinder  him  from  taking  up  that  same  subject  he  had  been  harping 
on  so  much  of  late,  and  giving  it  a  more  immediate  and  personal 
application?  An  early  opportunity  arrived.  Mrs.  Tremenheere 
went  below  to  have  some  tea,  her  bishop  accompanying  her.  Sa- 
bina did  not  care  for  any  ;  she  preferred  to  remain  on  deck.  And 
then  it  was  that  Fred  Foster  renewed  his  prayer  that  Sabina 
should  not  give  herself  so  wholly  up  to  these  charitable  labors  of 
hers — that  she  should  introduce  a  little  amusement  into  her  life. 

It  was  a  roundabout  way  of  placing  an  offer  of  marriage  before 
a  young  lady ;  but  it  was  not  an  unskilful  one.  There  was  no 
startling  suddenness  about  it.  Sabina  found  herself  listening  to 
an  argument  that  seemed  to  be  pervaded  by  sound  common-sense. 
All  work  and  no  play,  he  said,  was  just  as  bad  as  all  play  and  no 
work  :  the  first  was  her  case,  the  second  his  ;  wouldn't  it  be  a  bet- 
ter and  wholesomer  arrangement  if  he  could  share  her  work,  and 
she  take  some  part  in  his  amusements?  It  was  quite  gradually 
that  slie  came  to  understand  what  he  meant — that  they  should 
join  their  two  lives  so  as  to  arrive  at  this  fair  compromise  between 
pleasure  and  duty  ;  and  she  listened  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  and 
with  many  rapid  fancies  running  through  her  head.  There  was 
not  much  sentiment  expressed  in  this  proposal ;  but  then  she  did 
not  consider  herself  a  sentimental  person.  Was  there  not,  on  the 
other  hand,  instead  of  sentiment,  a  certain  reasonableness  and  fit- 
ness ?     More  than  once  she  had  found  herself  in  need  of  a  man's 


A   BETROTHAL.  141 

support  and  guidance,  while  (for  there  was  no  austerity  in  her 
nature)  a  little  holiday-making  now  and  again  might  gladden  life 
up  somewhat.  She  listened  in  silence,  perhaps  afraid  to  under- 
stand his  meaning  too  clearly ;  but  presently  his  speech  became 
plain  enough. 

"  You  know  my  mother  went  to  see  you  at  Brighton,  Miss 
Zembra,"  he  said,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  deck,  and  he 
spoke  in  an  undertone,  for  there  were  many  people  about.  "  That 
was  foolish  on  my  part.  An  ambassador  is  no  good.  And  even 
here — when  I  have  the  chance — I  can  only  say  bits  of  things. 
But  I  have  been  thinking  it  over  a  good  deal,  and  a  partnership 
between  us  seems  reasonable  ;  and,  of  course,  that  partnership  could 
only  mean  marriage.  I  ought  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you; 
but  I  can't  praise  you  to  your  face ;  besides,  Mrs.  Tremenheere 
may  be  up  again  any  minute.  But  I  think  we  might  have  '  a  real 
good  time,'  as  the  Yankees  say  ;  and  I  should  be  tremendously  in- 
terested in  all  you  are  doing,  and  lend  you  a  hand  when  there  was 
a  chance ;  and  then,  when  you  are  over-fagged  and  deserve  a  day's 
holiday-making,  you  might  leave  me  to  engineer  that  with  a  fair 
amount  of  confidence.  I  would  live  anywhere  you  liked  ;  I  haven't 
many  friends  in  London  ;  and  you  don't  seem  to  go  out  much ; 
when  we  went  pleasuring,  it  would  be  in  the  country.  There's 
Goodwood,  now  :  wouldn't  it  be  fine  to  get  you  away  from  those 
slums  and  run  down  to  Brighton  for  a  week,  and  get  hold  of  a 
dog-cart  and  a  stout  little  cob  ?  There's  the  Mater,  too — wouldn't 
she  welcome  you  ?  And  if  you  want  quiet,  that's  the  place ;  and 
shouldn't  I  be  willing  to  play  good  boy  then  ?  Sabina — is  it  to 
be  '  Yes  ?'  " 

She  looked  up  for  a  second,  timid  and  hesitating. 

"No,"  he  said,  quickly,  "if  you  are  afraid  to  say  'Yes'  on  so 
short  a  notice,  say  nothing.     Think  over  it.     Will  you  ?" 

She  nodded  slightly,  with  her  eyes  still  cast  down.  And  then 
he  said,  eagerly, 

"But  this  you  must  promise — to  take  no  one  into  your  confi- 
dence. Will  you  promise  to  make  your  decision  yourself?  Oh, 
I  know  what  will  happen  if  you  take  advice.  Your  people  at 
Lancaster  Gate  hate  the  sight  of  me.  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  and  I 
don't  resent  it.  Perhaps  I  shouldn't  myself  like  having  anybody 
planked  in  my  house  like  that.  If  you  ask  them,  they  will  say 
no — I  am  certain  of  it ;  and  I  don't  see  that  they  take  such  care 


142  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

of  you  that  you  should  be  particular  about  asking  their  permission 
or  advice.  And  as  for  the  Wygrains,  they  would  say  the  same 
thing,  for  they  are  very  fond  of  you,  and  they  are  jealous,  and 
would  be  angry  at  any  one  taking  you  away  from  them.  But 
never  mind  that.  AVhen  it  was  all  over  I  should  soon  be  able  to 
pacify  them.  Now,  will  you  promise  me  so  much  —  that  you 
will  form  your  judgment  entirely  by  yourself?" 

She  was  understood  to  assent;  he  could  hardly  hear  her  speak. 

"And  that  you  will  make  it  'Yes'  if  you  can?"  he  pleaded. 
"Sabina,  tliat  is  not  too  much  to  ask?" 

Whether  it  was  or  not  was  of  little  consequence,  for  at  this 
moment  Mrs.  Tremenheere  made  her  appearance  on  deck ;  and 
the  bishop,  coming  along,  would  insist  on  carrying  Sabina  away 
to  have  some  tea  or  something  of  the  kind. 

Nor  did  Mr.  Foster  have  another  opportunity  of  speaking  pri- 
vately with  her  during  the  rest  of  the  way  up  the  river;  but  as 
they  were  going  ashore  at  Charing  Cross,  where  Sabina  was  to 
embark  in  Mrs.  Tremenheere's  barouche,  and  be  driven  home  that 
way,  he  managed  to  say  to  her, 

"  Will  you  send  me  a  message  to-morrow?" 

And  as  they  shook  hands  at  the  door  of  the  carriage,  she  said 
to  him — but  with  averted  eyes, 

"  Yes ;  to-morrow." 

It  was  not  a  long  time  in  which  to  form  a  decision  which  would 
affect  the  whole  of  her  life;  and  yet  it  cannot  be  said  that  she 
spent  an  agonizing  night  of  doubt  and  dread.  For  one  thing, 
she  was  no  timid  young  creature  of  seventeen,  driven  out  of  her 
wits  by  the  discovery  that  Charlie  had  stolen  unawares  into  her 
heart,  confronted  by  the  awfulness  of  having  to  break  her  prom- 
ise to  poor  Tommy,  and  conscious  at  the  same  time  of  certain 
secret  and  pronounced  flirtations  with  Frank,  that  had  no  doubt 
awakened  certain  hopes  in  his  mind,  and  that  it  would  be  remark- 
ably difficult  to  explain  away.  Nor  was  there  any  wild  passion 
in  the  matter.  Sabina  was  twenty-five;  she  had  seen  too  much 
of  the  real  trouble  of  the  world  to  care  about  indulging  in  ro- 
mantic imaginary  woes;  life  had  been  serious  vi'ith  her.  Perhaps, 
indeed,  a  trifle  too  serious.  For  it  was  a  cheerful  prospect,  on 
the  whole,  that  Fred  Foster  had  opened  out  before  her.  She  was 
to  have  his  advice  and  aid  in  time  of  difficulty;  she  was  to  have 
his  blithe  companionship  when  they  thought  fit  to  snatch  a  holi- 


A   BETEOTHAL.  143 

day.  There  was  a  kind  of  happy-go-lucky  self-reliance  about  him 
which  was  in  itself  assuring;  he  seemed  very  certain  that  the 
projected  partnership  would  work  well ;  she  did  not  think  it 
would  be  so  much  amiss  if  on  occasion  they  left  overcrowded 
lanes  and  alleys  for  a  pleasant  drive  to  Goodwood. 

Nor  had  she  any  fear  about  forming  a  decision  for  herself ;  for 
she  had  for  long  been  accustomed  to  manage  her  own  affairs. 
And  well  she  knew  that  he  had  spoken  truth  in  warning  her  as 
to  the  consequences  of  her  seeking  counsel  either  from  her  own 
people  or  from  the  Wygrams.  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
knew  Fred  Foster  as  she  did ;  they  were  governed  by  a  violent 
prejudice  against  him ;  it  would  not  be  honest  advice  she  would 
get,  but  an  expression  of  ill-will.  And  was  it  not  a  pity  to  see 
this  young  fellow,  who  had  many  good  qualities  about  him,  left 
to  drift  uselessly  about  the  world  ?  His  income,  she  knew,  was 
not  very  large ;  indeed,  he  was  almost  entirely  dependent  upon 
his  mother;  still,  it  might  be  better  employed  than  in  backing 
horses.  Her  income  and  his  together  would  enable  them  to  live 
very  comfortably  in  a  moderate  way,  and  also  permit  her  to  con- 
tinue her  works  of  charity  as  well  as  to  have  a  little  amusement 
now  and  again,  according  to  his  projected  plan.  His  mother 
would  be  kind  to  her,  she  knew.  Altogether,  looking  at  the 
matter  from  every  possible  point  of  view,  it  not  only  looked 
reasonable  and  practicable,  but  also  attractive  in  many  ways;  and 
as  for  Fred  Foster  himself,  surely  it  was  affection  that  had  prompt- 
ed his  offer  (for  she  had  no  fortune) ;  then  she  liked  his  frank- 
ness, and  his  sardonic  self-criticism,  and  also  the  quiet  audacity 
•with  which  he  sought  to  get  the  best  of  everything  within  his  reach; 
and  she  made  no  doubt  that  a  man  like  this,  who  was  rather  given 
to  belittling  himself,  would  in  the  end  turn  out  more  trustworthy 
than  a  man  who  was  eager  to  show  himself  off  to  the  best  advantage. 

And  yet  it  is  no  light  matter  for  a  young  woman  to  sign  away 
the  days  of  her  freedom  and  maidenhood  ;  and  next  morning  the 
letter  that  was  to  deliver  Sabina  into  slavery — into  partnership, 
he  called  it — was  written  many  times  over  before  she  could  con- 
sider it  even  passable.  And  when  she  came  down-stairs  to  break- 
fast, she  was  somewhat  self-conscious,  and  rather  avoided  meeting 
Janie's  eye. 

"Are  you  tired,  Sabie  dear,  after  your  trip  to  Greenhithe?" 
said  Mrs.  Wygram,  noticing  that  she  was  rather  silent. 


144  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"No,  no,  not  at  all,"  the  girl  said,  and  some  slight  color  came 
unwittingly  into  the  pale,  calm,  beautiful  face,  "  Why,  it  was  a 
holiday — I  think  we  all  enjoyed  it  very  much." 

By-and-by  Sabina  had  to  set  forth  on  the  business  of  the  day, 
and  this  time  she  was  going  alone.  But  before  leaving  the  house 
she  sought  out  Janie,  and  took  her  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
there  was  no  one  but  themselves.  She  had  her  hand  on  Janie's 
arm. 

"  Janie,  dear,  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you." 

Her  eyes  were  smiling,  her  cheeks  rose-tinted ;  she  was  hesitat- 
ing and  timid — and  then  she  suddenly  made  a  step  forward  and 
kissed  Janie,  and  put  her  head  close  to  her  head. 

"  Janie,  be  kind  to  me — don't  be  vexed — I — I  am  engaged  to 
be  married." 

Janie  withdrew  herself  from  that  embrace,  her  surprise  was  so 
great. 

"  You,  Sabie  ?"  she  managed  to  say.     "  But— but— to  whom  ?" 

"  To  Mr.  Foster,"  was  the  answer,  given  in  a  kind  of  doubtful 
tone. 

"  Oh,  Sabie,  what  have  you  done  !"  the  girl  cried ;  and  there  was 
anguish  in  the  cry,  and  her  face  had  grown  suddenly  pale.  "Oh, 
what  have  you  done,  Sabie — when — when  there  was  one  man  in 
all  the  world  who  really  loved  you — " 

Janie  had  stepped  back,  white-faced  and  frightened. 

"  Yes,  and  you  knew  it — you  knew  it — and  now  you  have 
broken  his  heart !" 

"You  must  not  talk  such  nonsense,"  said  Sabina,  somewhat 
proudly.  "  And  we  will  not  mention  the  subject  again  until  you 
have  come  back  to  your  senses." 

And  therewith  she  turned  and  went  from  the  room,  leaving  poor 
Janie  entirely  overcome ;  for  not  only  was  she  aware  that  an  aw- 
ful calamity  had  occurred — and  to  her  beloved  Sabie — but  also 
she  had  quarrelled  with  her  nearest  and  dearest  friend. 


PREPARATIONS.  145 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PREPARATIONS. 

In  these  days  of  strict  governance  one  would  hardly  expect  to 
find  in  Kensington  High  Street  a  well-conducted  young  lady 
vainly  endeavoring  to  repress  her  sobs,  and  occasionally  and  fur- 
tively wiping  a  tear-drop  away  from  her  wet  eyelashes.  Yet  such 
was  Janie  Wygram's  condition  on  this  July  morning  ;  and  she  had 
not  quite  recovered  her  self-control  even  when  she  had  got  up  to 
Netting  Hill.  But  she  had  grown  reckless  in  this  sudden  grief 
tliat  had  come  upon  her;  and  she  longed  for  consolation — which 
is  sometimes  to  be  found  in  the  imparting  of  news  to  a  faithful 
friend;  and  it  was  with  no  hesitation  at  all  that  she  rang  the  bell 
of  Walter  Lindsay's  house,  and  asked  if  he  was  at  home. 

He  was  at  home.  He  was  in  the  studio,  she  was  informed. 
Was  he  alone?  Only  a  model  with  him.  But  Janie  had  lived 
much  among  painters;  she  knew  that  models  form  the  telephonic 
system  of  the  art  world  ;  and  this  communication  she  had  to  make 
to  Walter  Lindsay  was  not  meant  for  alien  ears.  So  she  sent  a 
message  to  him,  and  awaited  him  in  the  drawing-room. 

Presently  she  heard  a  step,  and  her  heart  sunk  within  her.  She 
knew  not  how  to  meet  him.  And  even  as  he  came  forward  to 
greet  her — a  little  surprised  he  was,  but  certainly  pleased  by  this 
unexpected  visit — she  could  not  help  thinking,  with  a  heavy  heart, 
that  it  was  this  man,  so  distinguished-looking,  so  generous  of  nat- 
ure, so  courteous  and  gentle  in  all  ways,  that  Sabina  had  thrown 
over — for  whom  ?  She  stole  another  glance  at  him,  and  essayed 
to  speak,  but  in  vain.  Then  he  noticed  that  she  had  been  crying, 
and  instantly  he  took  her  hand  again,  and  his  face  was  full  of  a 
quick  concern. 

"  What  is  it?     What  has  happened  ?"  he  said. 

"  I — I  came  to  tell  you,"  said  Janie,  striving  not  to  give  way. 
*'  Sabie — Sabie  is  engaged  to  be  married." 

Quito  involuntarily  he  dropped  her  hand.  She  did  not  dare  to 
7 


146  SABIXA   ZEMBRA. 

look  at  his  face.  Indeed,  her  eyes  were  all  wet  and  blind ;  she 
had  enough  to  do  with  her  own  trouble. 

As  for  him —  They  say  that  a  drowning  man  sees  all  the  back- 
ward years  at  a  glance.  He  seemed  to  see  all  his  future  years 
— stretching  on  and  on — gray,  barren,  hopeless,  solitary.  That 
was  but  for  a  moment. 

"  I  suppose — it  is — to  that  Mr.  Foster?"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that 
was  apparently  quite  calm. 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Janie,  in  a  half -hysterical  fashion.  "And  I 
have  been  afraid  of  it  all  along !  They  were  together  always  at 
Brighton — I  heard  it  from  mother — and  Sabie  is  so  strange — she 
lets  herself  be  talked  over — especially  if  you  ask  anything  from 
her — and  I  suppose  that — that  contemptible  horse-jockey  has  ap- 
pealed to  her  sympathy,  and  she  has  taken  pity  on  him." 

"Janie,"  Walter  Lindsay  said,  gravely,  "don't  you  think  it 
would  be  wiser  if  you  tried  to  make  the  best  of  what  has  hap- 
pened ?" 

"  But  it  was  you  I  wanted  her  to  marry,  if  ever  she  married 
any  one,"  Janie  broke  out  afresh.  "  We  all  wanted  it.  If  Sa- 
bie had  only  done  that — " 

"  But  what  is  the  use  of  speaking  of  it  ?"  he  gently  remonstrat- 
ed— and  she  was  so  much  occupied  with  her  own  sorrow  that  she 
did  not  notice  how  gray  his  face  had  become  all  this  while,  how 
haunted  and  absent  his  eyes.  "  You  know  that  was  never  pos- 
sible." 

"No,  I  suppose  it  was  not,"  she  said,  in  a  kind  of  despair.  "  I 
suppose  it  was  never  possible.  You  were  too  well  off — too  happy  ; 
and — and — and  every  one  making  much  of  you.  She  used  al- 
ways to  talk  of  you  as  being  so  fortunate,  having  such  a  great  ca- 
reer before  you.  It  was  always  work  she  thought  of;  she  never 
let  sentiment,  affection,  come  in — unless  it  was  about  poor  people. 
Yes,"  added  Janie,  bitterly,  "  you  were  always  too  well  off  for 
Sabie.  But  if  you  had  been  a  miserable,  insignificant,  conceited, 
contemptible  creature,  like  this  horse-jockey — " 

"Janie,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  authority,  "you  are  acting 
very  foolishly.  You  are  letting  your  disappointment  become  a 
craze;  and  it  will  be  all  the  more  difficult  for  you  to  remain  on 
good  terms  with  Mr.  Foster  if  you  nurse  this  silly  anger  against 
him." 

"  On  good  terms  with  him  ?"  she  said,  scornfully. 


PEEPARATIONS.  147 

"  For  Sabina's — for  Miss  Zembra's  sake." 

"But  Sabie  has  gone  away  fcom  me  now  !"  Janie  cried.  "Sa- 
ble, who  was  my  friend — " 

"  She  is  your  friend,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Now,  sit  down  and 
tell  me  how  all  this  came  about,  and  how  you  heard  of  it." 

Janie  sat  down  obediently  ;  but  how  was  she  to  tell  him  of  the 
arguments  and  persuasions  that  Fred  Foster  had  used  in  winning 
over  Sabina?  Janie  knew  nothing  of  all  these;  but  she  had 
formed  her  own  theories  and  guesses,  and  it  was  these  that  she 
now  placed  before  him,  Walter  Lindsay  in  vain  endeavoring  to 
mitigate  the  malice  of  her  insinuations.  And  as  for  Foster's  mo- 
tives in  seeking  to  make  Sabina  his  wife,  she  could  make  them 
out  too.  Sabina  was  a  very  pretty  woman ;  and,  for  a  year  or 
two,  until  he  got  tired  of  her,  she  would  do  him  credit  when  he 
drove  her  to  a  race-course.  Then  there  was  her  three  hundred 
pounds  a  year.  Sabina,  Janie  explained,  was  very  frank  in  dis- 
cussing her  financial  position,  when  charitable  projects  were  be- 
ing considered ;  of  course,  Mr.  Foster  must  have  learned  what  her 
allowance  from  her  father  was.  And  would  not  the  three  hun- 
dred pounds  be  a  handy  addition  to  his  income,  and  enable  liini 
to  bet  a  little  more  on  horses  and  greyhounds?  Besides  that 
(Janie  contended),  he  was  of  course  expecting  a  rich  man  like  Sir 
Anthony  Zembra  to  give  his  daughter  a  handsome  marriage-por- 
tion. Where  would  that  go  ?  In  gambling,  of  course.  And  then  ? 
Poor  Sabie ! 

"  No,  no,  no !"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  hoar  anything  of  the  kind. 
These  are  only  Cassandra  prophecies.  Depend  upon  it,  a  woman 
like  Miss  Zembra  could  not  make  such  a  mistake  in  her  choice; 
there  must  be  something  finer  and  better  than  that  in  him;  re- 
member, she  knows  so  much  more  about  him  than  you  do.  And 
you  are  going  to  be  reconciled  to  him  —  that  is  what  you  have 
got  to  do ;  and  both  you  and  I,  whatever  happens,  will  remain 
Miss  Zembra's  fast  friends;  and  I,  for  one,  I — I  wish  her  a  very 
happy  marriage  1" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face.  There  was  not  much  gaycty 
there,  but  a  serious  wistfulness,  rather;  and  his  look,  which  was 
directed  to  the  window,  was  thoughtful  and  absent.  And  for  the 
life  of  her  —  regarding  him  thus  —  she  could  not  help  repeating 
what  she  had  said  before  as  to  what  she  had  sketched  out  as  Sa- 
bina's future. 


148  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"No,  I  think  none  of  us  were  anxious  that  Sabie  should  marry  ; 
she  was  so  good  and  perfect  and  beautiful  that  we  all  wished  to 
have  a  share  in  her,  and  to  have  a  little  of  her  kindness  and  at- 
tention ;  but  if  she  was  to  marry,  it  should  have  been  you  ;  indeed, 
indeed,  that  would  have  reconciled  us  all  to  it." 

"  But  it  is  of  no  use  talking  of  that  now,"  said  he,  gently  put- 
ting away  the  subject.  "  No,  dear  Miss  Janie,  what  you  have  to 
do  now  is  to  think  of  what  is  best  for  her.  As  for  me,  I  don't 
pity  myself  overmuch.  Surely  no  harm  can  come  to  any  one 
through  having  known  a  good  woman.  Anything  more  than  her 
friendship  was  never  possible,  but  I  had  that  for  a  time,  and  I 
will  remember  it  all  my  life,  I  hope.  Now,  give  me  your  prom- 
ise." 

"What?" 

"That  you  will  do  everything  you  can  for  Miss  Zerabra,  and, 
as  the  first  thing,  that  you  will  receive  her  future  husband  as  she 
would  like  to  have  him  received." 

"  No,  I  can't  promise  that,"  she  said,  stubbornly. 

"  And  what  is  the  value,  then,  of  your  affection  for  your  Sabie, 
as  you  call  her?" 

"You  ask  too  rnuch — you  ask  too  much!"  she  exclaimed;  and 
the  tears  were  like  to  come  into  her  eyes  again;  but  she  rose,  as 
if  to  go  away.  And  then  she  said,  reUictantly,  "  Well,  I — I  know 
what  you  say  is  right.  It  isn't  everybody  who  is  so  unselfish  as 
you.  Perhaps,  some  time  later  on,  I  will  try;  and  I  hope  that 
what  you  say  will  come  true,  and  that  there  is  a  chance  of  Sable's 
being  happy.  But  I  should  have  been  happier  if  she  had  made 
another  choice." 

"  Remember,"  he  said  to  her  at  the  door,  and  as  she  turned  to 
him  for  a  moment  she  thought  there  was  something  in  the  grave, 
sad  face  she  had  never  seen  there  before,  an  inexpressible  gentle- 
ness and  tenderness,  as  it  were — "remember,"  he  said,  as  his  last 
word  to  her,  "  that  you  are  Miss  Zembra's  friend,  and  may  be  of 
great  help  to  her.  There  are  some  who  would  be  proud  to  be  in 
that  position." 

AVell,  if  Sabina,  at  this  crisis  of  her  life,  was  to  have  the  good- 
will and  aid  and  sympathy  of  her  friends,  it  was  more  than  she 
was  likely  to  receive  from  her  relatives.     Of  course,  she  said  to 
Fred  Foster,  she  must  go  and  tell  her  father  of  her  engagement. 
"  As  for  that,"  remarked  Mr.  Foster,  in  his   cheerful  manner, 


PREPARATIONS.  149 

"  if  there's  going  to  be  any  kind  of  a  row,  you'd  bettor  let  mc  do 
it.  Oh,  I  don't  mind.  I  have  an  impression  tliat  your  father 
isn't  very  fond  of  me ;  and  if  he  wants  to  say  so,  or  to  say  any- 
thing nasty  about  our  engagement,  I  am  willing  to  stand  the 
racket.  Bless  you,  it's  wonderful  how  little  words  can  hurt  you, 
if  you  look  at  them  the  right  way.  They're  only  air;  air  can't 
hurt  you.  I've  seen  a  woman's  lips  turn  white  because  of  a  little 
remark  ad<h-essed  to  her.  It  would  need  some  particularly  pene- 
trating patent  gas-tight  remarks  to  make  my  lips  turn  white.  Oh, 
I  shouldn't  mind  in  the  least." 

"  I  liope  there  won't  be  any  trouble,"  Sabina  said.  "  They've 
always  left  me  to  act  for  myself.  But  if  there  should  be  any  ob- 
jection— or — or  misapprehension — I  am  sure  that  I  shall  be  able 
to  talk  more  gently  than  you  would." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  believe  in  gentle  speaking,"  said  he,  cheerfully. 
"  Plain  speaking  is  ever  so  much  better.  Besides,  there  may  be 
a  few  little  business  arrangements  to  talk  over;  you'd  better  let 
me  go." 

Sabina  laughed. 

"  Are  we  to  have  a  quarrel  already  ?"  she  asked.  "  It  is  true  I 
have  been  living  separate  from  my  family  for  some  time,  and 
they  let  me  go  ray  own  way  ;  but  don't  you  think  it  would  look 
a  little  bit  queer  if  I  were  to  send  a  third  person  to  tell  my  fa- 
ther that  his  daughter  was  going  to  be  married  ?" 

"Do  as  you  like,  then,  Sabie,"  said  he,  ifl  his  off-hand  way. 
"But  I  think  I  should  have  made  a  better  job  of  it." 

That  same  afternoon  Sabina  went  along  to  the  Waldegrave 
Club.  It  was  with  her  father  alone,  she  considered,  not  with  the 
other  members  of  the  family,  that  she  had  to  deal ;  and  she  knew 
when  she  would  most  likely  find  him  at  his  club — a  little  before 
question  time  at  the  House.  The  hall  porter  at  the  Waldegrave 
recognized  her  at  once,  for  she  had  often  called  there ;  he  asked 
her  to  step  within  and  take  a  seat,  while  he  sent  a  page-boy  for 
Sir  Anthony  ;  and  so  it  was  that  Sabina  found  herself  awaiting 
her  father  in  this  great  hall,  that  looked  so  quiet  and  clean  and 
cool  after  the  din  and  dust  of  the  hot  London  streets. 

Sir  Anthony  came  along  in  his  most  majestic  manner,  serene, 
complacent,  looking  all  round  the  hall  for  some  one  to  favor  with 
a  distant  nod.  When  he  reached  Sabina,  he  plumped  himself 
down  beside  her  on  the  softlv  cushioned  seat. 


150  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"Well,  Small -pox,"  he  said  (for  he  was  a  desperately  witty 
person  on  occasion),  "  what  do  you  want  now?" 

"Do  you  remember  Mr.  Foster,  papa?" 

"  Foster,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  coldness.  "  Do  you  mean 
the  young  man  who  was  good  enough  to  confer  his*  society  on  us 
for  a  considerable  period — a  very  considerable  period  ?" 

*'  But  it  was  through  no  fault  or  wish  of  his  own,  papa," 
she  pleaded.  "Why  do  you  speak  of  him  like  that?  It 
is  such  a  pity  you  should  have  formed  a  prejudice  against 
him." 

"  We're  rid  of  him  now,  anyway ;  and  I  wish  to  hear  no  more 
about  him,"  he  said,  shortly. 

"  But  it  is  about  him  I  came  to  see  you,"  she  said. 

"  Oh !  He  is  in  the  hospital  still,  I  suppose,  and  you  want  to 
raise  a  subscription  for  him  when  he  comes  out.  Is  that  it  ? 
Well,  you  needn't  come  to  me — I  will  not  give  you  a  shilling — 
no,  nor  a  penny." 

"Papa,  he  is  a  gentleman  !"  she  said,  rather  incoherently.  "And 
please  don't  talk  of  him  like  that.  I — I  am  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried to  him." 

He  stared  at  her  in  dumb  surprise.  Was  the  girl  mad  ?  And 
then,  when  he  had  become  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  few 
words  she  had  just  spoken,  he  broke  into  no  violent  explosion 
(how  could  he,  in  the  hall  of  the  Waldegrave  Club  ?) ;  rather,  he 
affected  to  treat  the  news  with  much  respect. 

"Really,  Sabina,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said 
(though  the  look  in  his  eyes  was  scarcely  in  consonance  with  the 
extreme  suavity  of  his  voice).  "  Your  consideration  for  us  all  is 
Tuost  kind.  You  can't  imagine  what  a  relief  will  be  felt  at  home. 
For,  of  course,  knowing  your  ways,  we  had  been  expecting  you  to 
choose  at  the  highest  a  coster-monger  for  your  husband ;  and  we 
had  been  looking  forward  to  a  visit  from  you  all — the  char-wom- 
an, his  mother,  his  brother,  the  prize-figiitcr,  and  his  sister — well, 
anything;  and  we  should  have  had  altogether  a  nice  family  party. 
But  this  is  a  much  better  arrangement — quite  a  bound  up  the 
social  ladder.     Let's  see,  what  is  his  profession  ?" 

"  Papa,  you  are  not  very  kind  to  me,"  she  said,  with  a  slight 
quiver  of  the  lips. 

But  at  this  moment  Sir  Anthony  Zembra's  face  became  all 
beams  and  smiles.     A  very  distinguished  and  famous  statesman 


PKEPARATIONS,  151 

had  just  come  out  of  the  reading-room,  and  as  he  passed,  he  nod- 
ded and  said, 

"  How  are  you,  Sir  Anthony  ?" 

And  Sir  Anthony,  with  the  most  winning  expression,  made 
haste  to  answer, 

"  How  do  you  do  !  how  do  you  do !"  for  wlio  knows  when  one 
may  wish  to  have  the  favor  of  a  dispenser  of  office? 

However,  at  the  same  moment,  the  remarkably  Iceen  eyes  of  the 
great  man  had  caught  sight  of  Sabina,  and  he  stopped ;  for  he 
was  known  to  be  very  partial  to  pretty  young  ladies,  whom  he 
treated  with  an  Old-world  courtesy  that  was  very  pleasant  to  look 
upon. 

" Miss  Zembra,  I  think?" 

Sabina  rose  as  in  duty  bound. 

"  We  don't  meet  very  often,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  and  lie 
bowed  over  the  hand  that  Sabina  timidly  extended  to  him,  "  but 
I  hear  of  you  from  time  to  time  through  Mrs. Tremenheere.  Yes, 
I  hear  of  your  goodness.  But  mind  you  take  care  of  yourself, 
my  dear — we  can't  afford  to  lose  any  such  as  you." 

He  patted  her  hand  and  said  "  Good-by,"  and  went  on  liis  way. 
Sabina  sat  down  again;  Sir  Anthony's  face  instantly  resumed  its 
former  expression  of  perfectly  implacable  coldness  and  firmness. 

"  Well,  now  that  you  have  given  me  the  information,  what 
more  ?"  he  said. 

"Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me,  papa?"  she  answered,  with 
an  appealing  look. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  joy,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,"  he  said,  calm- 
ly. "  I  wish  you  joy — witliout  any  sarcasm.  Marrying  a  man 
you  don't  know — " 

"  But  I  do  know  him — everything  about  him,"  she  said.  "  And 
I  know  his  people — and  his  mother  has  promised  to  be  very  kind 
to  me." 

"  More  than  my  own  relatives  seem  likely  to  be,"  she  might 
liave  added  ;  but  she  did  not  want  to  make  mischief. 

"Oh,  his  mother  has  promised  to  be  very  kind  to  you.  Has 
she  offered  to  support  you  ?" 

"I  liardly  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  rather  bewildered. 

"  Only  that  I  di)n't  see  that  I  am  called  upon  to  support  an- 
other man's  wife,"  he  continued.  "You  take  this  step  without 
the  slightest  consultation  with  your  family.     You  did  not  con- 


152  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

suit  them,  probably  because  you  knew  it  would  be  against  their 
wishes.  Very  well.  It's  a  free  country.  You  may  go  your  own 
way.  But  as  you  make  your  bed  you  must  lie  on  it.  You  don't 
suppose  that  I  am  going  to  support  you  and  this  man  who  has 
no  claim  upon  me  whatever,  unless  unbounded  impudence  be  a 
claim." 

"My  husband  will  be  able  to  support  me,"  said  Sabina,  proud- 
ly— but  imprudently,  for  his  eyes  darkened  a  little. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  in  the  same  impassive  way.  "  We'll  see 
how  it  turns  out.  But  mind,  I  never  do  anything  out  of  anger. 
I  will  make  you  a  certain  allowance,  so  that  you  shall  not  have  to 
fear  starvation.  I  think  that  is  my  duty.  What  the  amount  will 
be  I  will  consider  later  on.  ' 

"Papa,  I  did  not  come  here  to  ask  you  for  money  !" 

"No?  Then  I  suppose  you  came  merely  to  impart  the  agreea- 
ble news.  Well,  having  done  so,  is  there  anything  more  to  be 
said  ?     I  must  be  ofE  to  the  House." 

She  knew  not  what  to  say.  She  had  expected  that  he  would 
be  annoyed,  and  that  she  might  have  some  trouble  in  talking  him 
over ;  she  had  not  expected  to  be  confronted  with  this  stony  and 
stolid  indifference. 

"  Won't  you  come  to  the  wedding  ?"  she  said,  in  desperation. 

He  lifted  his  eyebrows  in  affected  surprise. 

"  Come  to  the  wedding  ?  No,  I  think  not.  What  could  put 
that  into  your  head  ?  Of  course  you  are  quite  aware  that  if  you 
are  really  bent  on  this  folly  —  if  you  are  determined  to  throw 
yourself  away  on  this  man — then  I  must  decline  to  have  either 
him  or  you  come  near  my  house.  I  don't  wish  to  make  any  fuss. 
You  are  a  grown  woman — you  are  able  to  judge  for  yourself ;  I 
only  wish  to  let  you  know  clearly  what  will  be  the  consequences 
of  this  freak  of  yours." 

She  rose ;  her  lips  were  proud  and  firm. 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  she  said ;  and  she  bade  good-by  to  him 
without  offering  her  hand,  and  turned  and  went  away,  and  got 
into  the  cab  that  was  awaiting  her,  and  drove  home. 

And  how  eagerly  and  impatiently  she  waited  for  Fred  Foster, 
who  was  to  come  to  see  her  that  evening  ! 

"  Oh,  Fred,"  she  said,  piteously  (Janie  had  retired  from  the 
drawing-room),  "  it  was  dreadful !" 

"I  knew  it  would  be,"  he  said,  laughing.     "All  the  fat  in  the 


PREPARATIONS.  153 

fire,  no  doubt.     You'd  mucli  better  have  let  me  manage  the  busi- 
ness," 

"  I  suppose  a  girl  should  never  say  anything  against  her  fa- 
ther," poor  Sabie  continued  (rather  clinging  to  him  a  little,  as  if 
for  sympathy),  "  but  he  was  like  a  stone — if  it  had  been  mere 
anger,  I  shouldn't  have  minded  so  much." 

"  It  will  blow  over,"  he  said,  carelessly.  "  They're  often  like 
that,  those  inconvenient  papas.  But  they  always  come  round  in 
the  end,  especially  if  there's — " 

"  If  there's  a  baby,"  he  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  but  luckily 
stopped  in  time. 

"  And  about  the  money — he  seemed  to  think  I  had  come  to 
ask  him  for  money  !"  she  continued. 

"  Yes,  I  told  you  you'd  better  have  left  me  to  manage  it,"  he 
answered,  coolly.  "  But  it's  all  right,  Sabie — it  will  be  all  right 
in  the  end,  never  you  fear." 

"But  will  you  do  this  for  me?"  she  said,  at  once  timidly  and 
eagerly.  "  You  know  my  father  said  he  would  make  me  an  al- 
lowance— but  you  can't  tell  how  it  was  offered — well,  now,  if  I 
could  only  say  to  him, '  No,  thank  you,  my  husband  can  support 
me,'  don't  you  see  how  proud  I  should  be  ?  I  don't  want  to  do 
it  out  of  anger  or  revenge — but  to  justify  you,  and  to  show  him 
that  the  cruel  things  he  said  were  quite  uncalled  for.  Do  you 
think  we  could  afford  to  refuse  that  allowance  ?  1  know  it  would 
make  a  great  difference  to  me — I  mean  it  would  be  so  much  more 
difficult  to  look  after  any  of  those  poor  people;  but  we  might 
pinch  a  little — I  could,  in  lots  of  things;  I  would  try  hard." 

"My  dear  child,"  he  said,  good-naturedly,  "you're  suffering 
from  a  fit  of  heroics.  Your  sensitive  soul  has  been  wounded. 
No  doubt  you  and  I  could  live  on  my  income,  with  prudence  and 
a  frugal  and  contented  mind  ;  but  most  assuredly  you  would  have 
no  margin  for  your  tribe  of  dependants.  No,  no,  Sabie,  don't  be 
angry  with  your  poor  father.  He'll  come  round.  He  did  not 
mean  the  half  of  what  he  said — they  never  do ;  but  it  sounds 
well,  and  gives  them  importance  for  the  moment." 

"  It  was  for  your  sake,"  she  said,  hesitatingly. 

"  But,  you  see,  I  haven't  a  sensitive  soul.  We  couldn't  afford 
to  run  two  in  the  same  establishment.  I  care  as  little  what  the 
good  papa  thinks  of  me  as  he  docs  of  what  I  think  of  liim.  No, 
no ;  the  wise  thing  to  do  is  to  take  what  we  can  get,  and  to  hope 


164  SABINA   ZEMBKA. 

for  more ;  and  I  dare  say  we  shall  do  very  well,  somehow  or  other. 
And  don't  be  too  downhearted  about  the  Herr  Papa — I  tell  you, 
it's  wonderful  how  much  more  people  say  than  they  mean." 

There  was  a  tapping  at  the  door;  a  maid-servant  announced  to 
them  that  the  rest  of  the  household  were  awaiting  them  at  sup- 
per, and  Sabina's  proud  project  of  renunciation  was  at  an  end. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  WEDDING. 


It  was  a  summer  night  at  Brighton.  The  tall  house-fronts 
were  gray  and  wan  against  the  crimson  and  yellow  still  lingering 
in  the  north-western  heavens ;  but  far  away  over  the  sea,  to  the 
south-east,  there  dwelt  a  golden  moon  in  a  sky  of  pale  rose-pur- 
ple; and  the  moonlight  that  fell  on  the  wide  waters  was  soft  and 
shimmering,  until  it  gleamed  sharp  and  vivid  where  the  ripples 
broke  on  the  beach.  Here  and  there  the  stars  of  the  gas-lamps 
began  to  tell  in  the  twilight.  There  was  a  faint  murmur  of  talk- 
ing ;  young  girls  in  white  summer  costumes  went  by  with  laugh- 
ter and  jest ;  there  was  an  open  window,  and  somebody  within  a 
brilliantly  lit  drawing-room  was  singing — in  a  voice  not  very  loud, 
but  still  audible  to  such  of  the  passers-by  as  happened  to  pause 
and  listen — an  old  Silesian  air.  It  was  about  a  lover,  and  a  bro- 
ken ring,  and  the  sound  of  a  mill-wheel. 

Walter  Lindsay  was  among  these  casual  listeners — for  a  min- 
ute or  two  ;  and  then  he  went  on,  with  some  curious  fancies  in  his 
head.  Not  that  any  young  maiden  had  deceived  him,  or  that  he 
was  particularly  anxious  to  find  rest  in  the  grave ;  for  this  is  the 
latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  ;  and  he,  as  well  as  others, 
knew  that  Wertherism  was  now  considered  ridiculous.  But  some- 
how London  had  become  intolerable  to  him,  and  he  could  not 
work ;  and — well,  Brighton  was  the  nearest  place  to  get  away  to 
while  one  was  considering  further  plans.  It  was  a  little  lonely,  it 
is  true;  especially  on  these  summer  evenings,  when  all  the  world 
seemed,  as  it  were,  to  be  murmuring  in  happiness.  Over  there  was 
the  Chain  Pier.  A  few  golden  points — gas-lamps — glimmered  on 
it;  and  beyond  it  there  was  a  small  boat,  the  sail  of  which  caught 
the  last  dusky-red  light  from  the  sunset,  and  looked  ghostly  on 


A    WEDDING.  155 

the  darkening  plain.  In  that  direction  peace  seemed  to  lie.  lie 
began  to  think  tliat  if  he  passed  away  from  this  laughing  and 
murmuring  crowd,  and  went  out  to  the  end  of  the  pier,  and  quiet- 
ly slipped  down  into  the  placid  waters,  the  world  would  be  none 
the  worse  for  the  want  of  him,  and  a  good  deal  of  heart-sickness 
would  come  to  an  end.  He  did  not  really  contemplate  suicide; 
it  was  a  mere  fancy.  Killing  one's  self  for  love  is  not  known 
nowadays,  except  among  clerks  and  shop-lads  ;  and  then  it  is  gen- 
erally prefaced  by  cutting  a  young  woman's  throat,  which  is  un- 
pleasant. No,  it  was  a  mere  fancy  that  haunted  him,  and  not  in 
a  too  mournful  fashion.  He  thought  of  the  people  who  would 
decide  that  it  was  at  such  and  such  a  moment  that  he  must  have 
flung  himself  into  the  sea,  from  the  fact  of  his  watch  having 
stopped  then  ;  and  he  knew  that  they  would  be  in  error,  because, 
of  course,  the  water  does  not  instantly  get  into  the  inside  of  a 
watch.  He  remembered  the  story  of  the  impecunious  reporter, 
who  wrote,  "  Sevenpence -half -penny  having  been  found  in  the 
pockets  of  the  deceased,  no  motive  could  be  assigned  for  the  rash 
act;"  and  he  wondered  whether,  he  having  several  sovereigns  in 
his  pocket,  it  would  be  assumed  that  this  was  not  suicide  at  all. 
But  these  were  but  idle  dreams  and  reveries;  because  he  knew 
that  this  dull,  continuous,  insatiable  heartache  in  time  would 
cease — or,  at  least,  he  hoped  so ;  and,  besides  that,  he  thought  he 
would  like  in  the  coming  years  to  be  kind  to  Sabina's  children. 

There  were  so  many  young  women  coming  along  this  Marine 
Parade;  some  sedately  walking  with  their,  mammas;  some  gig- 
gling with  their  companions;  some  aimlessly  alone  and  silent; 
Avhy  was  it  that  none  of  them  had  any  interest  for  him  at  all,  and 
that  his  heart  was  far  away  in  London  ?  In  the  distance,  some- 
times, he  saw  a  tall  figure ;  and  a  sharp  spasm  of  wonder  would 
seize  him ;  might  not  this  be  some  one  like  Sabina — with  some- 
thing of  the  inexpressible  magic  and  charm  of  Sabina's  presence, 
with  something  of  Sabina's  look  in  her  eyes,  with  the  proud  set 
of  her  head,  and  her  fearless  gait?  Then  the  young  lady  would 
draw  near — perhaps  graceful,  and  good-looking,  and  gentle-look- 
ing enough,  and  no  doubt  a  most  charming  and  accomplished  and 
praiseworthy  young  person ;  but  the  first  swift  glance  that  told 
him  it  was  not  Sabina  herself  was  sufficient;  she  went  by  un- 
heeded. Of  course  all  this  was  the  sheer  perversity  of  foolish 
sentiment,  and  he  knew  it ;  and  he  walked  back  to  the  Bedford 


156  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

Hotel  declaring  to  himself  that  love  was  the  most  idiotic  thing  in 
the  world  (and  rightly  laughed  at  by  all  sensible  people),  and  that 
what  he  was  really  concerned  about  was  the  size  of  the  canvas  on 
which  he  was  to  attempt  a  picture  of  the  Shannon  rapids  at  Kil- 
laloe. 

On  reaching  the  hotel  he  found  awaiting  him  there  a  letter  from 
his  faithful  friend  and  correspondent  Janie  Wygram,  who  had 
promised  to  let  him  know  how  things  were  going  on. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Lindsay  "  (she  wrote), — "  I  have  tried  to  do  as 
you  said ;  and  it  has  not  been  quite  so  hard  as  I  expected ;  for  I 
do  think  he  is  really  fond  of  Sabie — in  a  careless  way;  and  that 
he  is  good-natured  when  everything  is  done  to  please  him.  But 
sometimes — well,  you  will  say  I  am  prejudiced,  but  I  must  tell  the 
truth — sometimes  he  vexes  me  terribly.  Why,  he  seems  to  think 
it  is  all  a  piece  of  fun — a  frolic !  Fancy  any  one  marrying  our 
Sabie  as  if  it  was  part  of  a  Bank  Holiday  excursion  !  He  doesn't 
in  the  least  understand  what  a  prize  he  has  won,  or  the  favor  she 
has  shown  him  ;  it's  all  a  free-and-easy  give-and-take  with  him ; 
indeed,  I  am  not  sure  that  he  doesn't  consider  that  she  is  the  one 
who  ought  to  be  smiling  and  grateful.  I  know  he  has  a  pretty 
good  opinion  of  himself,  anyway  ;  and  you  understand  how  gen- 
erous Sabie  is;  she  always  makes  the  most  of  everybody  ;  and,  of 
course,  after  what  you  said,  I'm  not  going  to  make  her  discon- 
tented or  pick  out  defects.  But  fancy  having  to  write  like  this 
of  Sable's  lover !  I  don't  think  I  ever  did  really  want  her  to 
marry  anybody ;  but  many  a  time,  in  reading  poetry,  I  have 
thought  that  if  ever  Sabie  had  a  sweetheart,  it  would  be  a  beau- 
tiful sight  to  see,  and  just  like  the  wonderful  pictures  of  the  poets. 
Many  a  time  I  have  thought  of  her  as  Rosalind  putting  the  chain 
ronnd  Orlando's  neck,  and  wishing  him  well  in  the  wrestling ;  for 
giving  is  Sable's  natural  attitude,  I  think.  But  it  is  no  use  talk- 
ing; and  I  won't  say  how  very,  very  different  from  these  romantic 
pictures  is  the  present  situation  ;  for  you  are  quite  right  about 
making  the  best  of  it,  for  her  sake ;  and  you  may  be  sure  of  this, 
that  however  any  one  else  may  choose  to  behave  or  make  light  of 
his  great  good- fortune,  which  he  doesri't  understand  a  bit,  Sabie  re- 
mains herself  as  distinguished  and  refined  and  gentle  and  beauti- 
ful as  ever,  and  just  goodness  itself.  Mother  says  I  am  mad  about 
her.     I  wonder  what  she  is  ?     However,  if  I  am,  I  don't  care  who 


A   WEDDING.  157 

knows  it — I  am  proud  of  it ;  and  if  people  only  knew  Sabie  as 
intimately  as  I  do,  they  wouldn't  be  much  surprised,  I  think." 

He  laid  down  the  letter  for  a  moment.  He  saw  clearly  the 
situation  she  described,  despite  the  cunning  with  which  she  affect- 
ed to  be  saying  smooth  things.  And  was  this  the  predicament  in 
which  Sabina  had  placed  herself  ?  He  could  not  believe  it.  Janie 
Wygram  was  only  half  concealing  the  violence  of  her  prejudice. 
She  took  Fred  Foster's  cheerfulness  —  in  itself  an  admirable  qual- 
ity— for  indifference.  Perhaps  she  was  disappointed  that  these 
two  betrothed  people  did  not  show  her  a  little  more  of  the  ro- 
mance of  an  engagement ;  he  was  not  disappointed  that  Sabina 
should  refuse  to  bill  and  coo  for  the  edification  of  by-standers. 

"  I  hope  there  will  be  no  trouble  in  the  future,"  the  letter  went 
on,  "  but  I  want  you  to  understand  that  Sable's  father  has  behaved 
like  a  monster.  They  may  say  what  they  like  about  him  in  the 
papers;  but  certain  I  am  that  he  has  not  the  heart  of  a  human 
being.  He  came  here  the  day  before  yesterday  (the  first  time  he 
has  honored  our  house  Avith  his  presence  since  Sabie  came  to  live 
with  ns),  and  made  a  settlement  of  everything.  That  is  to  say, 
he  never  asked  Sabie  if  she  was  still  of  the  same  mind ;  there  was 
no  quarrelling,  or  even  remonstrance,  on  his  j)art — for  he  is  far 
too  selfish  and  cold  and  hard  a  man  to  take  so  much  trouble  about 
anybody  ;  and  then  he  told  her  what  he  meant  to  do.  She  is  to 
have  one  hundred  pounds  for  her  wedding  outfit ;  and  afterwards 
he  will  allow  her  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  to  keep 
her  from  starvation,  as  he  says;  but  lie  won't  allow  either  her  or 
her  husband  ever  to  come  near  his  house.  Sabie  did  not  break 
down  at  all — she  is  too  proud  ;  indeed,  the  cruel  thing  is  that  Mr. 
Foster  would  not  allow  her  to  refuse  the  allowance  altogether, 
which  she  wanted  to  do.  Of  course,  he  took  it  in  his  chirrupy 
way.  He  says  it  will  be  all  right ;  and  that,  after  the  marriage, 
her  father  will  relent.  But  she  says  he  will  do  nothing  of  the 
kind ;  and  she  knows  him  better  than  Mr.  Foster  does.  Fancy 
such  meanness — to  his  eldest  daughter;  and  that  they  should  be 
forever  praising  him  in  the  papers  for  his  public  spirit  and  his 
benevolence.  But  what  he  gives  to  Sabie  isn't  printed  in  a  list 
of  subscriptions;  I  suppose  that  is  it. 

"  There  is  one  good  thing  :  my  dear  one  will  have  a  true  friend 
in  Mr.  Foster's  mother.     The  old  people  came  to  town  the  other 


158  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

day  ;  and  Mrs.  Foster  was  very,  very  nice  and  affectionate.  Mat- 
ters don't  go  smoothly  between  father  and  son,  I  imagine  ;  but,  of 
course,  I  wasn't  allowed  to  hear  too  much  ;  and  perhaps,  now  that 
he  is  to  marry  and  settle  down,  there  will  be  greater  harmony. 
Sabie  will  be  the  peace-maker;  surely,  if  they  can  withstand  the 
sweetness  of  her  disposition  they  are  made  of  sterner  stuff  than 
some  people  I  know.  I  do  wish  she  had  some  other  kind  of  fa- 
ther than  that  cruel  old  beast  Sir  Anthony ;  just  fancy  the  thousands 
and  thousands  he  has ;  and  he  must  needs  cut  down  the  girl's  al- 
lowance by  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  just  because  he  dislikes 
the  man  she  is  going  to  marry.  Why,  he  might  be  proud  to  know 
that  he  has  such  a  daughter ;  but  there  is  none  of  his  nature  in 
Sabie ;  she  must  have  got  all  her  goodness  and  honor  and  gener- 
ousness  from  her  mother.  If  I  were  a  writer  in  the  papers,  wouldn't 
I  give  it  him !  I'd  show  the  public  what  a  monster  of  meanness 
and  hypocrisy  he  is;  why,  I  believe  he  is  glad  that  Sabie  is  going 
to  marry  against  his  wishes,  for  it  will  save  him  one  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  a  year. 

"Dear  Mr.  Lindsay,  tell  me  if  I  bother  you  writing  to  you 
about  Sabie.  I  can't  talk  to  her  as  I  used  to.  He  has  come  be- 
tween us,  and  she  has  other  interests ;  and  although  she  is  as 
kind  as  ever,  still  this  other  future  that  is  now  coming  near  must 
engage  all  her  attention.  If  only  her  heart  had  been  placed  else- 
where, I  should  not  have  repined  :  no,  I  should  have  rejoiced  ;  and 
I  should  have  borne  without  a  murmur  a  good  deal  of  coldness  or 
indifference  on  her  part,  if  I  saw  that  her  affections  were  wholly 
centred  on  one  worthy  of  them.  Never  mind ;  Sabie  will  always 
be  dear  Sabie  to  me,  whoever  claims  her ;  and  if  there  should  be 
a  time  of  trouble  she  won't  want  for  one  friend  at  least. 

"  The  marriage  is  to  be  soon  (because  the  chirrupy  man  thinks 
it's  all  a  kind  of  gay  pastime,  I  suppose),  and  I  am  to  be  the  only 
bridesmaid.  After  that  is  over,  Sabie  will  have  just  as  much  of 
my  friendship  as  she  asks  for  ;  I  am  not  going  to  intrude.  Please 
forgive  me  for  sending  you  so  long  a  letter;  I  thought  you  might 
like  to  know  how  matters  stand.  And  I  hope  everything  will 
turn  out  well ;  but  sometimes  I  am  a  little  miserable — perhaps 
needlessly.  Yours  sincerely, 

"Janie   WyORAM. 

"  p.  S. — Would  you  mind  sending  Sabie  a  little  message  of  con- 
gratulation ?  or  is  that  asking  too  much  ?" 


A  WEDDING.  159 

A  message  of  congratulation  ? — yes,  and  more.  He  put  on  his 
hat  again  and  went  out.  The  suuiuier  night  was  cool ;  it  was 
pleasant  to  pass  along  through  the  light-hearted  murmuring  crowd. 
By  this  time  the  skies  had  darkened  into  a  clear  rich  violet :  the 
moon  was  shining  with  its  fullest  radiance  ;  the  sea  broke  in  sharp 
ripples  of  gold  along  the  shingle  ;  the  shadows  of  the  people  were 
black  on  the  wan-gray  pavements.  What  was  he  to  do  for  Sabi- 
na  ?  That,  at  least,  was  something  more  comforting  to  think  of 
than  the  vague  heart-sickness  of  renunciation. 

And  very  wild  some  of  these  first  projects  were.  He  thought 
of  settling  his  little  patrimony  in  Gallowayshire  on  her,  for  her  sole 
and  exclusive  use ;  of  selling  his  studio  and  all  its  appurtenances, 
and  then  of  "  taking  the  world  for  his  pillow,"  as  the  Gaelic  sto- 
ries say,  when  the  hero  sets  forth  on  his  adventures.  For  he 
wished  to  get  away  from  England  somehow.  And  in  tliinking 
that  he  would  be  more  content  if  the  wide  Atlantic  were  the  bar- 
rier between  him  and  Kensington  High  Street  and  Kensington 
Square,  he  was  facing  no  foolish  risk.  His  work  was  well  known 
in  art  circles  in  America ;  several  American  artists  were  among 
his  familiar  friends;  he  was  already  a  member  of  the  Tile  and 
Kinsman  Clubs ;  the  far  Western  land  would  in  time  come  to  be 
his  home.  And  if  he  achieved  fame  there,  might  not  Sabina  oc- 
casionally hear  of  him  ?  And  if,  after  many  years,  he  had  amassed 
a  little  money,  well,  there  was  a  vision  before  him  of  an  elderly, 
white-haired  man  returning  to  his  native  country,  and  perhaps 
finding  a  young  Sabina  there — a  Sabina  in  all  ways  like  her  moth- 
er, but  with  her  face  bright  with  youth  and  hope,  and  her  chest- 
nut-brown hair  as  yet  unstreaked  with  gray — who  might  be  his 
companion  on  an  afternoon  stroll  or  so,  and  introduce  him  to  the 
young  man  she  favored,  and  accept  a  little  dowry  from  her  moth- 
er's friend  of  former  days?  These  were  far-reaching  dreams;  but 
at  least  they  were  not  very  selfish. 

In  the  mean  time,  that  forsaking  of  his  native  land  had  to  bo 
postponed,  for  the  most  singular  of  all  reasons — Sabina's  marriage. 
Janie  came  to  him  one  evening  after  he  had  returned  to  London, 
and  diflidently  and  almost  shamefacedly  j)referred  her  humble 
prayer.  Sable's  relatives,  she  said,  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  her;  surely  the  few  friends  she  had  ought  to  stand  by  her. 
Lindsay  looked  at  her  for  a  second  in  his  grave  and  thoughtful 
way. 


160  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  Do  yon  think,"  said  he,  rather  slowly — "  do  you  think  Miss 
Zcmbra  would  like  it  ?" 

"Why  don't  you  call  her  Sabief  the  girl  cried,  piteoiisly. 
"  Yes,  yes,  indeed  she  would  !  She  asked  me.  Oli,  I  don't  know 
whether  she  suspects  there  is  any — any  reason  why  you  might  re- 
fuse— how  could  I  speak  of  that  without  saying  too  much — " 

"  And  it  is  not  to  be  spoken  of  any  more,"  said  he,  gently. 
"  That  is  all  past  now.  Yes,  I  will  come  to  the  wedding.  I  was 
thinking  of  going  to  America,  but  I  will  put  that  off.  And  in 
the  mean  time,  Miss  Janie,  I  wish  you  would  help  me  to  decide  on 
a  present  for  her.  There  are  two  or  three  things  I  have  been 
thinking  of.  There  is  a  dessert  service  in  old  Worcester  that  my 
mother  was  proud  of.     It's  in  Scotland." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Lindsay,  you  wouldn't  give  away  an  heirloom  like 
that!"  Janie  cried. 

"  I  know  where  there  is  a  very  handsome  set  of  things  for  the 
dinner-table,  in  Venetian  glass,  that  ought  to  do,"  he  said,  absent- 
ly. "  But  I  will  hunt  about,  and  perhaps  get  something  more 
unusual." 

It  was  a  fair  autumn  morning  that  saw  Sabina  wedded.  Janie 
■was  the  only  bridesmaid.  AVhen,  after  the  ceremony,  the  beau- 
tiful, smiling,  fair-haired  bride  came  walking  down  the  aisle  on  the 
arm  of  her  husband,  there  was  a  little  murmur  of  approval  among 
the  old  women  and  girls  who  had  wandered  into  the  church.  The 
smile  that  was  on  her  face  was  one  of  greeting ;  for  she  had  caught 
sight  of  Walter  Lindsay  (whom  she  had  not  seen  for  a  long  while), 
and  she  paused  for  a  second  to  give  him  her  hand.  He  murmured 
something  about  "  happiness,"  and  they  passed  on. 

"  Good-by,  Mrs.  Wygram,"  he  said,  at  the  church  door. 

*'But  you  are  coming  home  with  us!"  the  old  lady  said. 

"No,  I  think  not,"  he  answered. 

"Oh,  but  Sabie  particularly  wished  you  should.  We  were 
counting  up  last  night  how  many  friends  she  had  who  would  take 
the  trouble  to  come  to  the  wedding — oh,  indeed  you  must  go 
back  to  the  house.     I  thought  Janie  had  arranged  it  with  you !" 

Well,  he  went;  and  found  a  very  merry  little  party  assembled 
in  the  familiar  old  faded  drawing-room  in  Kensington  Square. 
The  happy  bridegroom,  very  smartly  dressed,  and  apparently 
quite  recovered  from  his  lingering  lameness,  was  radiant,  face- 
tious, good-humored  to  a  degree ;  the  bride  (to  use  the  faithful 


A    nONEY-MOON    VISIT.  161 

Janie's  not  very  original  phrase)  looked  more  like  an  angel  than 
ever.  If  she  looked  like  an  angel  she  acted  like  a  woman ;  for 
she  singled  out  Walter  Lindsay  for  the  most  especial  and  obvious 
kindness;  and  tore  herself  away  from  her  sympathizing  feminine 
friends  to  talk  to  him,  and  to  talk  to  him  alone ;  and  she  was  so 
anxious  to  know  all  about  his  future  plans  and  projects. 

"But  you  don't  mean  to  remain  in  America?''  she  said,  and 
her  eyes  were  more  frank  and  direct  than  his. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  so,"  he  answered. 

"  Why  ?"  she  asked,  in  her  straightforward  way.  He  hesitated 
for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  with  a  laugh, 

"  Don't  you  know  that  picture-buying  is  a  lost  art  in  this  coun- 
try ?  I  want  to  see  if  there  is  a  market  for  my  wares  on  the 
other  side.     That  will  take  a  long  time." 

"  You  will  come  back  to  your  friends,"  she  said,  quietly. 

When  at  last  the  moment  arrived  for  her  going  awa)',  the 
usual  little  crowd  followed  her  to  the  front  door,  and  there  was 
the  customary  throwing  of  rice  and  old  slippers,  Janie  was 
standing  on  the  steps  along- side  Walter  Lindsay,  and  bravely 
endeavoring  to  restrain  her  tears.  Just  as  the  door  of  the 
brougham  was  snapped  to,  he  heard  her  exclaim  to  herself  "  Sa- 
ble !" — and  she  put  out  her  hand  as  if  even  now  she  would  have 
entreated  her  friend  to  come  back.  It  was  a  curious,  involuntary 
little  gesture ;  the  stifled  cry  that  accompanied  it  was  almost  a 
cry  of  anguish. 

About  a  week  after  that,  Walter  Lindsay  sailed  from  Liverpool 
for  New  York. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  HONEY-MOON  VISIT. 


The  newly  wedded  couple  went  down  to  Boscastic  on  the 
Cornish  coast.  Now  Boscastle  is  a  picturesque  little  place,  but 
the  occupations  it  affords  are  scanty ;  and  in  a  very  short  time 
Mr.  Fred  Foster  began  to  find  the  afternoons  hanging  ratlior  heav- 
ily on  his  hands.  Not  that  he  was  at  all  a  dull  comj)anion.  He 
had  seen  a  good  deal  of  life,  was  a  shrewd  judge  of  character, 
and  could  describe  people  in  a  semi-facetious  vein  that  was  at 


1C2  BABINA    ZEMBRA. 

least  meant  to  be  amusing.  Why,  one  whole  morning — these 
two  walking  the  while  along  the  high  Downs  overlooking  the 
western  sea — he  entertained  her  with  an  account  of  the  various 
modes  of  concealing  their  emotion  adopted  by  certain  noble 
sportsmen  while  looking  on  at  a  race  in  which  they  were  interest- 
ed :  how  the  Duke  of  Belvoir  invariably  found  something  wrong 
with  the  working  of  his  field-glass;  how  Lord  Cranesfoot  seized 
the  moment  for  selecting  a  big  cigar,  proceeding  to  chew  the 
same  without  taking  the  trouble  to  light  it;  how  Mr.  De  Gott- 
heimer  (no  matter  how  pale  his  features  might  be)  would  affect 
to  care  nothing  at  all  about  the  race,  but  rather  to  be  surprised 
at  the  excitement  of  the  roaring  crowd  around  him,  and  so  forth. 
Nevertheless,  these  walks  along  the  Downs,  and  along  the  country 
lanes,  and  out  by  the  little  harbor  to  the  hill  facing  the  Atlantic, 
became  a  little  monotonous,  and  Fred  Foster  was  a  frank-spoken 
person. 

"Dame  Durden,"  said  he,  in  his  playful  fashion,  "  listen  to  me. 
I  suppose  it  wouldn't  be  quite  according  to  the  correct  card  to 
ask  a  young  lady  on  her  wedding-trip  to  visit  her  mother-in-law, 
■would  it?     Beginning  too  soon,  eh,  to  face  the  trials  of  life?" 

"  I  will  go  with  pleasure,"  Sabina  said,  promptly. 

"You  don't  mean  that?" 

"  I  do." 

"Then  we'll  be  off  to-morrow  morning." 

This  resolve  seemed  to  bring  quite  a  new  cheerfulness  and  live- 
liness into  the  atmosphere,  and  that  evening  at  dinner  he  said, 

"  You  know,  Sabie,  I  wouldn't  have  made  the  suggestion  if  the 
Mater  was  like  any  one  else ;  but  she's  just  as  good  as  gold,  and 
she'll  be  awfully  proud  to  see  you.  Indeed,  there  are  several 
reasons  why  it  will  be  a  very  good  move.  We  shall  be  there  by 
the  First,  and  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  able  to  pick  up  a  few  birds. 
But  that's  not  the  chief  thing;  the  chief  thing  is  this — that  I 
want  you  to  set  seriously  to  work  and  make  a  poor  thing  of  my 
pa." 

She  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  Oil,  you  can  do  it,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  sarcastic  approval. 
"You  are  a  first-class  performer,  when  you  like,  for  all  your  in- 
nocent eyes — " 

"But  what  do  you  mean  ?"  she  said. 

"  Well,  Vm  talking  about  the  art  of  making  a  fool  of  people," 


A   HONEY-MOON   VISIT.  163 

be  answered,  blandly ;  "  and  if  there's  any  one  can  beat  you  at 
that,  I've  never  met  the  person.  Why,  there's  not  a  man  nor  a 
woman  about  this  place,  nor  a  boy  nor  a  girl,  either,  who  isn't 
all  smiles  and  simpers  whenever  you  make  your  appearance ;  and 
the  house-keeper  brings  flowers  for  the  '  dear,  sweet  young  lady ;' 
and  the  slavey  washing  the  steps  grins  to  you  as  if  your  going 
past  her  was  a  favor.  Oh  yes,  you  can  do  it.  Why,  you  left 
those  Wygrams  in  a  perfectly  gelatinous  condition  ;  I  don't  sup- 
pose Janie  Wygrara  has  done  crying  yet.  Now  I  want  you  to 
try  a  little  of  that  same  business  on  my. pa,  and  see  what  you 
can  do  with  him.  He's  an  uncommon  rough  subject,  I  can  tell 
you  ;  you'll  have  your  work  cut  out  for  you ;  but  if  you  can 
manage  it,  it  will  be  a  rare  good  thing  for  both  of  us.  You'll 
have  no  trouble  with  the  Mater.  She's  gone ;  she  collapsed  the 
minute  she  saw  you.  But  if  you  make  up  your  mind  to  go  for 
the  old  man — and  you  can  do  it  if  you  like — there's  no  saying 
■what  he  mayn't  do  for  us.  You  see,  picking  ferns  along  these 
Cornish  lanes  is  all  very  fine,  and  so  is  sitting  on  the  top  of  a 
cliff  and  wondering  how  long  it  will  be  to  lunch-time;  but  when 
we  get  back  to  London  there  will  have  to  be  some  considering 
of  ways  and  means.  Of  course  it  will  be  all  right — you  needn't 
be  afraid ;  but  in  the  mean  time  you  might  as  well  be  civil  to  the 
old  gentleman." 

"  Oh  yes,  I'll  be  civil  to  him,"  said  Sabina,  laughing.  She  did 
not  attribute  too  serious  a  rnotive  to  these  wise  counsels. 

And  doubtless  it  was  chiefly  as  a  joke  that  Fred  Foster  pre- 
tended to  regard  this  trip  into  Buckinghamshire  as  the  scheme. 
of  a  couple  of  adventurers  in  sore  need  of  money,  and  affected  to 
advise  Sabina  as  to  how  she  should  play  her  game.  If  the  game 
was  that  of  fascination,  she  had  no  need  of  his  advice — it  came 
naturally  to  her.  From  the  moment  that  she  set  foot  in  the^^ld- 
fashioned  house  just  outside  Missenden,  the  tall,  pretty,  refined- 
looking  old  lady  who  was  mistress  there  became  her  daughter- 
in-law's  bounden  slave.  She  had  come  quickly  to  the  door  on 
liearing  the  wagonette  drive  up;  the  broad  daylight — the  open 
highway — she  did  not  heed,  though  she  was  all  trembling,  and 
her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears.  The  instant  that  Sabina  alighted 
she  was  caught  to  this  kind  old  lady's  heart,  and  kissed  again  and 
again,  without  much  regard  for  any  passer-by.  "  My  dear! — my 
dear!"  was  all  that  was  said;  but  she  took  Sabina's  hand,  and 


164  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

held  it  fast  as  she  led  her  into  tlie  liall.  She  had  scarce  a  word 
for  her  son.  It  was  Sabina  who  was  to  be  attended  to ;  it  was 
Sabina  that  she  must  herself  take  to  her  room ;  it  was  Sabina 
who  was  helped  to  remove  her  things,  and  pressed  to  have  tea  or 
wine  or  anything  she  could  fancy,  and  all  the  while  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  petting  and  stroking  of  hands,  with  an  occasional 
trickling  tear  or  two. 

"  She's  a  goner,"  said  Fred  Foster  to  liimsclf  (he  was  left  vi'ith 
the  luggage  in  the  hall),  "  but  Fm  not  so  sure  about  the  old  man." 

By-and-by,  when  the  hubbub  of  the  arrival  had  quieted  down, 
the  son  of  the  house — who  had  been  pretty  mucii  neglected  in 
the  mean  while — managed  to  get  a  few  words  in  private  with  his 
wife. 

"Look  here,  Sabie ;  I'm  going  along  to  see  old  Jakes  —  the 
keeper  I've  told  you  about,  don't  you  remember? — and  most  like- 
ly I  sha'n't  be  back  till  dinner-time.  The  Mater  has  her  house- 
hold affairs  to  look  after — she  goes  through  them  like  clock-work 
— you  won't  see  much  of  her.  But  the  old  man  is  in  the  green- 
house— I  saw  him  go  in  a  minute  ago — why  don't  you  go  in  and 
tackle  him  now?  He's  only  snipping  at  his  grapes;  you've  got 
a  splendid  chance.     Off  you  go,  and  do  for  him." 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  gravely  innocent  face,  but  there  was 
some  laughter  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.     What  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"Oh,  of  course,  you  don't  know  !'J  he  retorted.  "You  don't 
know  how  to  do  it  at  all !  It  wasn't  you  who  knocked  young 
Lionel  out  of  his  senses  in  about  a  couple  of  minutes  in  the  Pa- 
vilion Gardens?" 

She  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  laughed. 

"  Oh,  do  you  remember  that?  Mrs.  Wygram  was  angry  with 
me-about  that.     I  am  sure  I  did  not  know  I  had  done  anything." 

"  Oh,  you  can  do  it  very  well.  Just  you  go  and  try  a  little  of 
the  same  kind  of  thing  on  my  respected  papa ;  but  mind,  he  isn't 
two-and-twenty." 

Well,  whether  from  mischief  or  idleness  or  careless  good-nat- 
ure, Sabina,  being  thus  left  to  herself,  thought  she  could  not  do 
better  than  go  and  talk  to  the  old  gentleman,  who  had  but  spo- 
ken a  few  words  of  welcome  to  her  and  returned  to  his  labors. 
Her  reception  in  the  greenhouse,  when  she  timidly  opened  the 
door,  was  not  of  the  most  cordial  kind. 


A   HONEY-MOON   VISIT.  165 

'*  Where's  Fred  ?"  the  old  gentleman  said,  sharply. 

"  He  has  gone  to  see  the  game-keeper,  I  think.  Shall  I — shall 
I  be  in  your  way,  sir,  if  1  stay  here  a  little  while  ?" 

"Left  you  alone  already,  has  he?"  the  old  man  grumbled;  and 
seemed  disinclined  for  further  conversation. 

But  Sabina  had  had  long  experience  in  the  humoring  of  peo- 
ple. She  began  to  ask  a  few  questions.  Soon  he  was  telling  her 
all  about  his  grapes,  with  a  touch  of  professional  pride.  She  had 
praises  for  a  country  life.  She  was  fond  of  a  garden.  What  did 
he  consider,  now,  gave  him  most  satisfaction  for  all  the  care  he 
expended  —  what  were  the  flowers  he  was  most  interested  in? 
The  next  thing  that  happened  was  that  the  old  gentleman  found 
himself  walking  about  in  the  open  with  this  pretty  daughter-in- 
law  of  his,  showing  her  all  his  treasures,  chatting  to  her  quite 
briskly  and  cheerfully,  and  apparently  vastly  pleased  with  both 
himself  and  her. 

That  was  but  the  beginning.  When  dinner-time  arrived,  Fred 
Foster  got  back  rather  late,  and  had  barely  a  couple  of  minutes 
to  rush  up-stairs  and  wash  his  hands  and  brush  his  hair.  When 
he  came  down  again,  what  was  his  astonishment  to  find  old  Mr. 
Foster  arrayed  in  an  antiquated  suit  of  evening  dress,  with  a  stiff 
white  neckcloth,  and  a  waistcoat  of  black  satin,  adorned  with  flow- 
ers in  colored  silk.  Such  a  thing  had  not  happened  within  the 
son's  recollection. 

"  Halloo,  father,"  said  he  ;  "  this  is  rather  formal,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  You  may  treat  your  wife  as  you  please ;  I  hope  I  know  how 
to  show  respect  for  my  daughter-in-law,"  was  the  chilling  rejoin- 
der. 

"Well,  that's  rather  rough  on  me,"  the  son  said,  good-hu- 
moredly.  "I  didn't  bring  any  evening  dress.  Why,  you  have 
always  set  your  face  against  it." 

All  during  dinner,  too,  the  old  gentleman  would  have  a  monop- 
oly of  Sabina's  conversation,  and  resented  any  casual  intrusion  of 
his  son  as  if  he  had  no  right  to  be  there  at  all.  As  for  the  gen- 
tle-featured mother,  she  did  not  say  much;  she  was  content  to  sit 
and  look  at  this  new-found  beautiful  daughter,  and  to  listen  to 
lier;  and  there  were  pride  and  a  great  affection  very  evident  in 
the  tender  gray  eyes.  She  had  not  been  busy  with  her  house- 
hold matters  all  the  afternoon  ;  she  liad  found  time  to  ransack 
certain  sacred  repositories,  and  many  were  the  bits  of  old-fash- 


166  S  A  BIN  A   ZEMBRA. 

ioned  finery  and  lace  and  trinkets  that  she  had  resolved  to  bestow 
on  Sabina.  As  she  sate  and  looked  at  her,  she  thought  it  would 
be  very  nice  to  put  such  or  such  a  thing  round  Sabie's  neck  and 
fasten  it  in  front  with  loving  care.  And  there  might  be  a  kiss 
in  return — for  she  thought  the  girl  was  rather  affectionate. 

Mr.  Fred  Foster  took  his  snubbing  very  patiently ;  he  spoke  a 
word  now  and  again  to  his  mother,  and  was  well  satisfied  to  see 
Sabina  (as  he  would  have  phrased  it)  rising  so  rapidly  to  first 
favorite.  Grown  happy  with  a  few  glasses  of  port,  the  old  gen- 
tleman was  gallantry  itself.  Many  a  rare  old  story,  hidden  for 
years  in  the  dusky  recesses  of  his  memory,  saw  the  light  once 
more ;  he  was  facetious,  patronizing,  sarcastic  by  turns,  and  gen- 
erally he  meant  to  convey  to  her  that  the  young  fellows  of  his 
day  were  a  dashing  set,  adepts  in  all  the  arts  of  love  and  war. 
And  then,  when  dinner  was  over,  and  John,  the  butler  (who  was 
also  groom,  and  helped  in  the  garden  besides),  had  put  the  de- 
canters on  the  table,  old  Mr.  Foster  filled  Sabina's  glass  and  his 
own,  and  bowed  to  her  graciously. 

"  No  speech-making,  my  dear,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  hope  you  see 
that  you  are  very  welcome  in  this  house." 

"  Haven't  you  got  a  little  bit  of  a  blessing  for  me,  too,  father?" 
Mr.  Fred  ventured  to  interpose. 

"For  you?"  said  the  old  gentleman,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion. "  Well,  I  will  say  this  for  you,  that  at  last  you  have  done 
a  sensible  thing — the  first  you  ever  did  in  your  life,  I  think." 

But  the  climax  came  later.  Old  Mr.  Foster  had  several  odd 
ways  and  habits,  to  which  he  adhered  with  the  rigor  begotten  of 
a  methodical  country  life ;  and  one  of  these  was  his  invariable 
custom  of  going  into  the  spacious  stone-floored  kitchen,  the  last 
thing  at  night,  to  smoke  a  pipe  or  two  of  tobacco  in  solitary  com- 
munion with  himself.  Mrs.  Foster  could  not  bear  the  odor  of 
tobacco  in  any  of  the  rooms,  not  even  in  the  greenhouse.  The 
household  went  early  to  bed;  the  maids,  before  leaving,  had  ev- 
erything trimly  swept  and  tidied  up ;  and  there  was  a  small 
wooden  table  placed  in  front  of  the  smouldering  fire,  with  decan- 
ters, a  jar  of  tobacco,  and  two  long  church-wardens.  The  second 
church-warden  was  supposed  to  be  placed  there  for  the  service  of 
Mr.  Fred  ;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  young  gentleman  did  not 
find  much  gayety  in  sitting  and  listening  to  grumblings  over  his 
own  conduct  and  gloomy  prophecies  as  to  the  future  of  the  agri- 


A   HONEY-MOON   VISIT.  167 

cultural  interests  of  the  country,  so  that  the  old  man  generally  sate 
there  alone ;  nor  had  he  ever  been  known  to  ask  any  one  to  keep 
hira  company.  Indeed,  he  was  supposed  to  be  bus}'.  This  was 
the  time  for  the  review  of  the  day's  doings,  for  plans  for  the 
morrow,  and  so  forth.  And  this  solitary  retirement  to  the  great 
and  gaunt  kitchen  (which,  nevertheless,  was  clean  and  warm 
enough)  he  had  practised  as  a  rite  for  over  thirty  years. 

*'  My  dear,"  said  he  to  Sabina,  "  do  you  object  to  the  smell  of 
tobacco  ?" 

"  I  like  it,"  was  the  plain  answer. 

"  Yes,  they  all  say  that—" 

"  Oh,  but  I  do — and  it's  very  well  I  do,  for  sometimes  I  get  a 
good  dose  of  it." 

"Then  you  won't  mind  giving  me  a  little  of  your  company? 
My  smoking-room  is  a  plain  one — the  kitchen.  There's  always  a 
fire,  you  see,  and  we  don't  annoy  anybody.  Where's  your  hus- 
band ?" 

"  I  think  he  has  gone  back  to  Jakes  again,  sir,  to  see  about 
some  dogs." 

*'  Come  along,  then,  my  dear,"  said  he  ;  and  when  she  promptly 
rose,  he  took  her  hand  and  placed  it  within  his  arm,  and  marched 
her  away.  "  It  isn't  a  gilded  smoking-saloon,^but  it's  snug.  And 
I've  such  a  story  to  tell  you  about  an  elopement.  I  had  a  hand 
in  it  myself,  too,  that  I  had,  though  it  wasn't  me  the  young 
lady  was  running  away  with.  Faith,  that  was  an  act  of  friend- 
ship, wasn't  it?  To  run  away  with  a  young  lady  on  behalf  of 
somebody  else,  and  scarcely  a  man  of  the  family  less  than  a  six- 
footer.  But  we  did  it — we  did  it;  ay,  and  she  got  safe  away, 
and  over  the  border  both  of  them  were  before  the  people  chasing 
them  had  got  to  Carlisle.  Come  along,  my  dear,  and  sit  down 
by  the  fire ;  it's  a  long  story  to  tell.  But  there  was  some  fun  in 
those  days." 

Fred  Foster  came  in  by-and-by. 

"Where's  Sabie?"  he  asked  of  his  mother,  who  was  quietly 
knitting  in  the  little  drawing-room. 

"She  has  gone  to  sit  with  your  father,"  was  the  answer,  and 
the  old  lady  smiled  a  little. 

"  What !  You  don't  mean  in  the  kitchen  ?"  he  exclaimed,  for 
such  a  thing  had  never  been  heard  of  before. 

"Yes,  indeed.     He  asked  her,  and  she  went  at  once." 


1G8  SABINA   ZEMBEA. 

"  Well,  upon  my  soul  I  What's  the  matter  witli  the  old  gen- 
tleman ?" 

Mrs.  Foster  looked  up. 

"  It's  very  early  in  your  married  life  to  show  jealousy,  isn't  it? 
But  you'd  better  take  care."  And  then  she  added,  "  Ah,  well, 
she  is  a  dear.  And  this  is  what  I  think,  Fred  —  that  nothing 
luckier  ever  happened  to  you  than  your  falling  off  that  bicycle." 

If  there  was  anybody  jealous  it  was  not  Fred  Foster.  It  was 
the  old  man  who  was  determined  to  monopolize  Sabina,  and  re- 
sented the  slightest  interference  on  the  part  of  his  son.  The  next 
morning,  when  Mr.  Fred  was  buttoning  on  his  gaiters  in  the  hall, 
he  called  in  to  the  breakfast-room : 

"Mother,  we  shall  be  shooting  over  Crookfield  to-day  ;  will  you 
bring  Sabie  along  for  a  while  ?  Or  will  you  send  Tom  to  show 
her  the  road  ?" 

But  it  was  the  old  man  who  answered,  and  that  sharply,  too. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  What !  Dawdling  along  muddy  hedge- 
rows or  crossing  wet  turnip-fields!"  Then  the  voice  became  less 
grufE.  "  No,  no,  my  dear,  we've  something  better  for  you  than 
that.  Just  to  think  that  you've  never  seen  Hampden  House,  and 
the  splendid  avenue  of  Spanish  chestnuts,  and  the  relics,  and  all. 
Why,  I'll  show  you  the  very  spot  where  they  tried  to  levy  the 
ship-money.  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  it's  a  beautiful  country.  I'll  drive 
you  myself;  and  then  we'll  go  on  to  Wendover,  and  maybe  pick 
up  a  bit  of  lace  for  you — local  industries,  you  know — local  indus- 
tries must  be  encouraged." 

And  so  Mr.  Fred  went  away  with  the  keeper  and  the  dogs,  while 
Sabina  by-and-by  found  herself  seated  next  the  old  gentleman  in 
front  of  the  wagonette  and  leisurely  driving  along  a  pleasant  high- 
way on  this  clear  and  fresh  September  morning.  She  was  in  ex- 
cellent spirits,  and  ready  to  be  pleased  with  everything  she  saw. 
She  even  took  good-naturedly  the  grumblings  and  growlings  that 
greeted  the  slightest  reference  to  her  husband. 

"  But  you  may  be  of  his  way  of  thinking,  too,"  he  said,  and  he 
sharply  glanced  at  her. 

"How,  sir?" 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  softening  a  little,  "  it  might  be  more  nat- 
ural to  you — yes,  yes ;  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you  thought 
our  life  in  this  quiet  place  rather  monotonous  and  dull.  You  are 
accustomed  to  the  gay  life  of  a  big  town — balls  and  parties." 


A   HONEY-MOON   VISIT.  169 

"  Indeed,  no,"  Sabina  said,  simply,  "  that  was  never  my  way  of 
living  at  all." 

"But  look  at  him,"  the  old  gentleman  said,  angrily.  "Loolc  at 
him — a  Buckinghamshire  lad — born  and  bred  in  this  very  valley 
• — but  nothing  here  is  good  enough  for  him — he  must  be  off  and 
away,  living  like  a  lord,  and  thinking  of  nothing  but  the  different 
ways  of  spending  money.  There's  Crookfield — the  very  place  he 
is  off  to  this  morning.  Mullein's  lease  falls  in  next  Michaelmas. 
The  old  man's  wife  died  last  year ;  his  sons  are  doing  very  well  in 
Texas ;  he's  going  out  to  them ;  and  so  the  farm  falls  on  my 
hands.  There's  a  fine  old  farm-house — one  of  the  prettiest  places 
in  the  neighborhood — where  any  young  couple  might  make  them- 
selves comfortable  and  snug.  But  would  my  gentleman  look  at 
it.  Oh  no  ;  spending  money,  not  making  it,  is  his  trade  ;  though 
goodness  knows  there's  not  much  money  coming  nowadays  to 
people  who  have  farms  to  let — in  this  part  of  the  world,  at  all 
events.  There  it  is,  you  see — the  farm  coming  on  my  hands — as 
line  a  farm  as  any  in  the  country  standing  empty — and  him  horse- 
racing,  I  suppose,  and  billiard-playing,  and  spending  money." 

"But  it  is  only  natural  for  a  young  man  to  like  amusement," 
she  said,  gently.  "  And  besides,  sir,  you  should  remember  he  has 
just  turned  ov^er  a  new  leaf.  He  is  to  be  quite  a  reformed  char- 
acter when  he  goes  back  to  London." 

"  Why  should  he  go  back  to  London  ?" 

She  did  not  answer  that  question.  But  she  understood  clearly 
enough  the  drift  of  these  remarks ;  and  that  same  evening  she 
said  to  her  husband, 

"I  suppose  you  know,  Fred,  what  the  old  people  would  like  us 
to  do.  They  would  like  us  to  settle  down  here — in  the  farm- 
house at  Crookfield — so  as  to  be  near  them." 

"  Yes,  I  know  very  well,"  said  he.  "  It's  exceedingly  kind  of 
them  ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  bury  myself  alive  just  yet.  And  you 
— do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  could  bear  with  another  fortnight 
— well,  let's  say  a  month — do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  could 
stand  a  month  of  the  kind  of  life  they  live  here?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  Why,"  she  said,  "  I  could  live  all  my  life  this  way,  if  I  thought 
I  had  any  right  to  do  so.     Could  anything  be  more  pleasant  and 
peaceful  and  harmless — the  garden,  the  driving,  the  seeing  to  the 
house  ?" 
8 


170  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

"  It  isn't  wildly  exciting,"  he  remarked. 

"But  you  don't  know  how  lazy  I  am  naturally,"  she  answered. 
"  A  fine  day,  a  seat  in  the  garden,  and  a  book — what  more  could 
any  one  want?  And  I  am  sure  kinder  people  never  were  born; 
oh  yes,  this  kind  of  life  would  suit  me  very  well.  But  I  know  I 
haven't  earned  the  right  to  it.  When  we  get  back  to  London, 
and  when  you  have  a  little  time  to  come  along  with  me,  I  will 
show  you  why  I  could  not  accept  this  quiet,  pleasant  life  down 
here  Avith  anything  like  a  good  conscience.     Perhaps  some  day — " 

"Perhaps  some  day  we  will  do  Darby  and  Joan,  you  mean?" 
he  said,  lightly.  "I  know  one  Darby — in  these  here  parts — who 
seems  a  good  deal  fonder  of  his  daughter-in-law  than  of  his  own 
lawful  wife." 

"  And  how  awfully  fond  she  is  of  you,  Fred  !" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  Mater  has  spoiled  me  all  the  way  through. 
That's  what  has  made  me  the  wreck  I  am." 

"  The  wretch,  you  mean." 

"  It's  all  the  same,"  he  said,  carelessly. 

In  the  mean  time  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  beyond  the 
getting  through  these  holidays  as  pleasantly  as  might  be,  and  she 
submitted  with  a  gracious  indolence  to  the  little  plans  that  these 
good  people  drew  out  for  her — and  very  kind  indeed  they  were  to 
her ;  and  very  proud  of  her  they  seemed.  It  was  during  this  pe- 
riod, moreover,  that  she  saw  her  husband  at  his  best.  If  there 
was  one  strong  feature  in  his  character,  it  was  his  passionate  de- 
votion to  his  mother;  and  this,  that  she  had  only  guessed  at  from 
his  talking,  she  now  saw  put  in  evidence,  in  a  hundred  pretty  w-ays, 
from  morning  till  night.  Just  about  as  clearly  as  most  people, 
Sabina  perceived  her  husband's  peculiarities  and  defects ;  for  she 
had  a  calm  understanding — and  she  was  not  blinded  by  any  wild 
romanticism.  He  was  frivolous,  careless,  infirm  of  purpose ;  he 
was  a  little  cynical,  and  not  a  little  selfish.  But  his  affection  for 
his  mother,  his  admiration  of  her,  his  praises  of  her  goodness,  his 
faith  in  her  counsels,  his  delight  in  her  personal  appearance — all 
these  were  beautiful  things  to  look  at  or  to  listen  to.  If  old  Mr. 
Foster  would  have  Sabina  go  with  him  for  a  stroll  along  the  au- 
tumn-tinted highways,  the  son  was  well  content  to  follow  behind 
with  the  pretty  and  gentle  mother,  teasing  her  sometimes,  at  oth- 
ers petting  her,  but  ever  and  always  her  champion. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  rather  a  stupid  thing,"  he  said  to  Sabina,  "  for 


A   HONEY-MOON   VISIT.  171 

a  man  to  be  proud  of  his  own  mother;  but  then,  you  see,  they 
don't  often  make  them  like  that." 

"  She  has  been  very  kind  to  me,"  Sabina  said,  rather  wistfully  ; 
she  had  not  enjoyed  much  of  a  mother's  care. 

On  the  morning  of  their  leaving  for  London,  Fred  Foster  ad- 
dressed the  following  remarks  to  his  wife,  during  the  process  of 
heaving  his  things  into  his  portmanteau  : 

"  Well,  now,  Sabie,  you've  done  everything  I  asked  of  you,  and 
done  it  thoroughly,  too.  I  thought  you  would  have  had  a  tough- 
er job  with  the  old  man  ;  but  you've  settled  him  ;  you've  made  a 
poor,  wretched,  gelatinous  thing  of  him  ;  lie's  just  as  silly  about 
you  as  the  Wygraras  used  to  be.  But  look  here,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  regarding  her  rather  ruefully.  "  I  haven't  seen  any  practical 
outcome  of  it.  Here  we  are  going  back,  and  not  a  word  has  been 
said  about  any  little  friendly  assistance  to  two  young  people 
starting  life  together." 

"  Oh,  Fred,"  she  remonstrated,  "  don't  talk  about  money ! 
They  have  been  goodness  itself  to  us." 

"Yes,  my  dear  child;  but  money  insists  on  being  talked  about 
— it  is  a  way  it  has  got.  I  don't  say  we  haven't  enough  for  pres- 
ent necessities ;  and  those  rooms  in  the  Strand  are  not  expensive 
— considering  how  handy  they  are ;  but  still — one  would  have 
liked  a  trifling  augmentation  of  income,  so  to  speak  ;  or  even  sup- 
posing that  a  little  friendly  check  had  been  slipped  into  one's 
hand,  I  dare  say  one  might  have  pocketed  one's  dignity.  Or  per- 
haps he  doesn't  believe  in  my  playing  good  boy  down  here? 
Wants  to  see  how  our  small  establishment  is  going  to  work? 
Payment  by  results,  eh  ?" 

"  Fred,  don't  talk  like  that !"  she  implored.  "  Surely  we  have 
enough,  if  we  are  careful  and  economical." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  I  am  not  frightened  about  tlie  future,"  he 
said,  gayly.  "  The  success  of  your  performance  down  here  has 
quite  reassured  me.  When  you  can  do  for  such  a  tough  old 
character  as  my  father,  you  won't  have  much  difficulty  in  bring- 
ing your  own  father  to  reason,  if  once  you  set  your  mind  to  it. 
We  shall  be  all  right,  never  fear." 

Old  Mrs.  Foster  was  crying  a  little  when  she  embraced  her 
daughter-in-law  for  the  last  time  at  Wycombe  station. 

"Dear  child,"  she  said,  "I — I  suppose  you  are  doing  right  in 
going  away  from  us — but — but  remember  there  is  always  a  iionie 


172  SAEINA   ZEMBEA. 

•waiting  for  you  when  you  choose.  God  bless  you,  my  dear ! — I 
shall  look  forward  to  your  coming  home.  I  know  you  will  come 
and  comfort  the  last  years  of  an  old  woman's  life." 

Sabina  was  not  a  sentimental  person  ;  but  this  old  lady  had 
been  very,  very  kind  to  her. 

"  Good-by,  mother,"  she  said,  with  a  half-stifled  sob  in  her  throat ; 
and  after  they  had  got  away  from  the  station,  she  sate  very  silent 
in  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  not  caring  to  show  that  her  downcast 
lashes  were  wet. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

IN   LONDON   AGAIN. 


This  was  Janie  Wygram  who  was  making  her  way  up  a  dusky 
and  narrow  little  staircase  in  a  house  in  the  Strand,  and  wonder- 
ing the  while  what  had  induced  the  newly  married  pair  to  pitch 
their  dwelling  in  the  very  centre  of  the  great  city's  turmoil. 
Then  she  gained  a  landing ;  there  was  an  open  door  before  her ; 
and  the  next  moment  this  was  no  other  than  her  beloved  Sabie 
who  had  eagerly  caught  her  by  both  hands,  and  drawn  her  into 
the  light  and  kissed  her,  and  was  smiling  and  laughing  with  glad- 
ness to  see  her  again. 

"And  I  know  what  you're  thinking,  Janie — that  we've  gone 
stai'k,  staring  mad  to  come  and  live  in  such  a  place.  Oh,  but  you 
have  no  idea  how  convenient  it  is.  I  can  pop  down  to  Hunger- 
ford  Pier  in  a  couple  of  minutes — the  Charity  Organization  So- 
ciety is  quite  close  by;  there's  Charing  Cross  station  handy  for 
Fred,  and  Waterloo  not  so  far  away." 

At  the  first  mention  of  Fred  Foster's  name  the  rather  bewil- 
dered Janie  involuntarily  looked  round,  and  Sabina  instantly  un- 
derstood that  mute  interrogation. 

"Fred's  gone  down  to  Lillie  Bridge,"  she  said,  lightly. 

As  plainly  as  possible  Janie's  little  glance  of  surprise  said, 
"  He  has  left  you  already — alone  in  London,  too  ?"  but  she  was  a 
prudent  lass,  and  held  her  peace;  and  Sabina  (whether  or  not  she 
had  noticed  that  look  of  surprise)  continued,  cheerfully  enough  : 

"I  suppose  he'll  find  some  friends  there,  for  lie's  not  coming 
back  till  the  evening,  and  so  I  thought  I  would  use  the  day  for 


IN   LONDON   AGAIN.  173 

my  own  purposes.  That  is  why  I  wrote  to  you,  Janie  dear.  I 
want  you  to  corae  and  help  me  in  getting  a  few  things  for  the 
rooms.  Comfortable  little  rooms,  aren't  they?  And  one  need 
never  be  dull  either  :  just  look  at  this." 

She  took  her  friend  to  the  window,  and  showed  her  the  busy, 
noisy  thoroughfare,  with  its  continual  stream  of  passers-by,  its 
shops  and  pavements  and  sandwich-men,  its  cabs  and  vans  and 
omnibuses,  its  ceaseless  movement  and  kaleidoscopic  groupings. 

"  When  I'm  left  a  poor  forlorn  grass-widow,"  Sabina  said,  "  I 
can  always  amuse  myself  there.  But  you  know,  Janie,  I  sha'n't 
have  much  time  for  moping.  Come,  shall  we  go  and  begin  our 
purchases  at  once  ?  I  want  to  get  a  few  pretty  things,  and  some 
useful  things  as  well,  just  to  make  the  place  trim  and  snug.  Fred 
•was  no  use  in  the  way  of  advice ;  the  only  thing  he  could  suggest 
was  a  cellaret." 

All  this  time  Janie  had  been  quite  silent ;  but  now  she  took 
Sabina's  hand  in  hers,  and  regarded  her  with  tender  and  earnest 
and  wistful  eyes,  and  said, 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know,  Sabie — how  glad  I  am — to  find  you  so 
— so — so  happy — and  contented." 

"Why,  you  dear,  good,  silly  creature,"  Sabina  answered,  good- 
humoredly,  "what  did  you  expect?  Did  you  expect  to  find  me 
sitting  with  a  dagger  and  a  bowl  of  poison  before  me?  Come 
along  now  and  we'll  get  our  shopping  done,  and  then  we'll  como 
back  here  to  have  a  bit  of  lunch,  and  you  will  tell  me  all  about  my 
friends  down  in  Chelsea." 

And  so  they  set  forth,  and  soon  they  were  both  engrossed  in 
that  important  business.  At  the  same  titiie  Janie  could  not  fail 
to  perceive  that  Sabina  seemed  determined  to  be  scrupulously 
economical,  and  betrayed  a  quite  new  desire  to  have  money's- 
worth  for  her  money.  Formerly  she  had  been  distinctly  free- 
handed— even  to  carelessness;  but  now  questions  of  small  savings 
were  considered  ;  and  more  than  once  she  contented  herself  with 
a  second-rate  article,  in  spite  of  Janie's  protests.  On  their  way 
back  to  the  rooms  in  the  Strand  she  even  made  some  little  kind 
of  apology. 

"  You  see,  Janie,  if  I  am  to  have  any  margin  at  all  to  help  my 
poor  people  down  there,  we  must  be  very  prudent  in  what  we 
spend  on  ourselves.  1  dare  say,  in  time,  and  with  care,  we  may 
make  a  little  nest-egg,  just  in  case  of  emergency ;  but  at  j)rcsent 


174  SABINA  ZEMBEA.. 

it  is  pretty  mucli  hand-to-mouth,  and  I  know  my  father  won't 
alter  his  resolution,  whatever  Fred  may  think.  That  hundred 
pounds  my  father  gave  me  for  the  wedding  outfit  just  made  all 
the  difference  to  us ;  you  know  I  spent  as  little  as  ever  I  could, 
and  out  of  the  balance  I  paid  for  all  these  things  we  have  been 
buying;  and  I  lent  Fred  twenty  pounds  this  morning;  and  even 
now  I  have  another  five-and-twenty  left.  So  you  see,  when  I  come 
again  to  visit  my  friends  down  there,  I  sha'n't  have  a  quite  empty 
purse." 

"  You  lent  Mr.  Foster  twenty  pounds  this  morning  ?"  Janie  was 
startled  into  saying. 

"  Oh,  well,"  Sabina  rejoined,  with  her  usual  good-nature,  "  he 
chose  to  call  it  a  loan.  I  don't  suppose  our  united  fortunes  will 
he  so  great  that  we  need  keep  an  account  between  us.  I  suppose 
that  trip  to  Cornwall  rather  impoverished  him — the  driving  is  so 
expensive  there.  When  you  get  married,  my  dear  child,  don't  you 
go  to  Cornwall," 

"  How  very  business-like  you  have  grown,  Sabie !"  her  friend 
exclaimed — perhaps  with  a  touch  of  disappointment. 

"  A  married  woman,  ray  dear,  has  her  responsibilities,"  Sabina 
answered,  briskly,  as  they  were  ascending  to  the  room.  "  And 
the  first  of  these  at  present  is  to  decide  what  we  shall  send  out 
for  for  lunch.  Better  still — we'll  ring  for  the  landlady,  and  ask 
her  advice." 

It  was  quite  like  old  times  for  these  two  to  be  having  a  frugal 
little  meal  together;  and  of  course  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be 
talked  over  concerning  the  futures  and  condition  of  the  poor  peo- 
ple who  had  been  temporarily  under  Janie's  charge.  Nor  were 
other  friends  forgotten  ;  and  at  last  Sabina  said, 

"  And  what  about  Walter  Lindsay  ?" 

Janie  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Why,  surely  you  know  he  has  gone  to  America  !" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember  his  speaking  about  it,"  Sabina  said. 

"  His  speaking  about  it !"  Janie  repeated,  with  something  of  re- 
proach in  her  tone  ;  and  then  she  added,  with  a  bit  of  a  sigh,  "Ah, 
■well,  Sabie,  I  suppose  it  was  not  your  fault  that  you  did  not  care 
for  him." 

"  But  I  did  care  for  him,"  Sabina  answered,  warmly — "  I  cared 
for  him  very  much  indeed.  He  and  I  were  always  the  best  of 
friends.     I  hardly  ever  knew  any  one  I  liked  more — why,  how 


IN  LONDON   AGAIN.  175 

could  it  be  otherwise? — lie  was  so  generous  and  raanly  and  cour- 
teous in  every  way.  And  so  pleasant  in  manner — I  tell  j'ou  I 
liked  him  very,  very  much  indeed." 

"  He  loved  you,  Sabie." 

Sabina  hesitated  for  a  moment,  not  knowing  which  way  to  take 
this. 

"  You  should  not  say  such  things,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"There's  no  harm  in  saying  it  now,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

*'  There  would  be  harm  if  it  were  true,"  Sabina  said,  quickly. 
"And  I  knew  that  you  had  some  fancy  of  the  kind,  from  the  way 
you  kept  on  talking  about  him.  You  mistook  the  very  frankness 
of  his  friendship  for  something  quite  different." 

"  Sabie,  I'm  telling  the  truth  !"  she  cried.  "  Why,  he  worship- 
ped the  very  ground  you  trod  on  !  There  never  was  a  man  loved 
a  woman  more  than  he  did  you.  He  thought  of  nothing  else  but 
you :  night  and  day  he  was  contriving  to  do  you  some  little  kind- 
ness— or  even  to  keep  himself  in  your  remembrance.  Loved  you  ! 
yes,  I  should  think  he  did — you  will  never  meet  with  a  love  like 
that  again,  if  you  live  for  a  hundred  years." 

*'  Janie,  you  forget !" 

*'  No,  I  don't  forget,"  Janie  said,  piteously,  "  but  I  want  to 
speak  just  this  once.  I  think  it  is  cruel — he  goes  away,  without 
a  word — well,  that  is  just  like  him — up  to  the  last  he  had  no 
thought  or  wish  but  for  your  happiness ;  and  now — when  you 
talk  of  other  people — you — you  mention  him  just  as  an  ordinary 
acquaintance,  and  you've  half  forgotten  that  he's  gone  away  to 
America.  I  suppose  he  would  prefer  that;  it  was  always  his 
way  ;  whatever  was  best  for  you — that  was  all  he  thought  of.  I 
went  to  tell  him  when  you  got  engaged.  I  suppose  I  was  rather 
put  about.  I  had  expected  other  things.  But  would  he  say  a 
single  word — except  of  kindness  for  you  ?  No ;  he  made  mc 
promise  to  remain  your  friend  whatever  happened ;  he  made  me 
promise  to  make  the  best  of  everything;  he  had  nothing  to  say 
about  himself,  though  I  could  guess  well  enough." 

"  And  so  you  think  you  are  making  the  best  of  everything,  Ja- 
nie, by  telling  me  all  this?" 

"I  don't  want  him  to  be  quite  forgotten.  I  don't  think  it's 
fair.  You  would  have  remembered  if  the  most  ordinary  acquaint- 
ance had  gone  away  to  America;  and  this  man — the  noblest  man 
that  I  have  ever  met  with — he  goes  away  from  his  own  country 


176  SABINA  ZEMBEA. 

— and  with  a  broken  heart,  as  I  take  it — and  you  scarcely  re- 
member— " 

"  Janie,  don't  make  me  angry,"  Sabina  said.  "  I  tell  you  I  re- 
membered well  enough  his  intention  of  going  to  America — we 
talked  of  it  on  my  wedding-day ;  and  he  was  as  cheerful  then  as 
you  might  be  now,  if  you  had  only  a  little  common-sense.  Come, 
come,  put  that  folly  out  of  your  head,  and  let  me  know  if  you 
have  heard  anything  about  him  since  his  arrival — I  should  be  glad 
to  hear  of  him  now  and  again — I  suppose  he  has  friends  over 
there  ?" 

"Friends?  Yes,  I  should  think  so!"  said  Janie,  proudly. 
"  You  should  have  seen  the  account  of  the  dinner  they  gave  him 
at  one  of  the  artists'  clubs  in  New  York — father  got  the  newspa- 
per, but  I  don't  know  who  sent  it — and  they  said  such  fine  things 
about  him,  and  spoke  of  his  making  America  his  home.  But  I 
know  better  than  that,"  Janie  continued,  with  an  air  of  authority, 
"  I  know  better  than  that.  He  meant  it  one  time,  no  doubt ;  and 
he  meant  to  sell  his  house  and  studio — and  he  asked  me  to  go  up 
one  afternoon  and  help  him  to  pick  out  keepsakes  for  the  people 
we  knew,  before  he  sold  everything  off.  Well,  we  were  getting 
through  with  that — and  we  have  all  of  us  got  something  to  re- 
member him  by — father  and  mother  and  all  of  us — when  lie 
came  to  the  Chippendale  cabinet  in  the  corner  of  the  studio.  He 
did  not  think  I  saw  him,  but  I  did ;  he  took  out  the  cup  of  rock- 
crystal  with  the  stones  round  it — you  once  drank  out  of  that  cup, 
Sabie— " 

A  slight  flush  came  on  Sabina's  forehead. 

"  It  was  a  piece  of  nonsense — I  should  have  thought  nothing 
of  it  only  that  your  mother  mentioned  it  afterwards." 

"  Well,  he  looked  at  it  a  long  time ;  and  then  he  put  it  back, 
and  then  he  turned  to  me.  '  Do  you  remember  the  night  Sabina 
came  here  to  supper?'  he  said — for  I  had  asked  him  to  call  you 
Sabina  during  these  last  few  days,  when  we  were  talking  a  little 
about  you.  '  Of  course  I  do,'  I  said.  '  Do  you  remember  how 
pretty  she  looked  when  she  was  up  at  the  corner  of  the  table — 
the  yellow  fichu  of  lace  round  her  neck,  and  the  bunch  of  forget- 
me-nots  in  front  ?  She  was  very  kind  to  me  that  night.  And  do 
you  remember  her  coming  along  through  the  garden,  like  a  pale, 
beautiful  ghost,  and  her  surprise  at  finding  the  studio  so  well  lit 
up?    That  is  where  she  sate — on  the  sofa  there — while  they  were 


IN   LONDON    AGAIN.  l'7'7 

singing  "  Shepherds,  have  you  seen  my  Flora  pass  this  way  ?" — 
you  remember  all  that  evening,  Miss  Janie?'  As  if  I  were  likely 
to  forget  it !  '  Well,'  he  says,  '  it's  no  use,  I  meant  to  sell  this 
place,  and  go  to  America  for  good.  I'm  going  to  America,  that's 
all  right ;  but  so  help  me  God,  so  long  as  I  have  a  shilling  left,  I 
will  never  allow  a  stranger  to  come  in  and  take  possession  of  this 
house  !'  And  that  is  how  it  stands  at  this  moment ;  and  yet — yet 
— you  say  that  man  was  not  in  love  with  you  !" 

"  Janie,"  Sabina  said,  "  you  talk  to  me  as  if  you  had  something 
to  reproach  me  with — as  if  I  had  done  Walter  Lindsay  a  great 
wrong.  Well,  you  know  Walter  Lindsay,  But  so  do  I ;  and  I 
think  I  know  him  well  enough  to  make  sure  he  never  meant  you 
to  speak  to  me  like  that." 

This  was  a  deadly  home-thrust,  and  for  a  second  poor  Janie 
became  rather  pale,  and  bit  her  lip. 

"  You  may  say  anything  you  like  against  me,  Sabie ;  I  am  quite 
content  when  I  see  you  begin  to  appreciate  Walter  Lindsay  a 
little." 

That  was  all  that  was  said  on  this  subject  just  then  ;  for  lunch 
was  over  now,  and  when  Sabina  asked  Janie  what  they  ought  to 
do  that  afternoon  (Mr.  Fred  not  returning  till  seven),  and  when  Ja- 
nie besought  her  to  go  down  and  see  the  old  people  in  Kensington 
Square,  she  most  cheerfully  consented.  They  spent  the  after- 
noon partly  in  Kensington  Square,  and  partly  in  certain  neighbor- 
hoods to  the  south  of  that,  looking  up  a  few  old  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances ;  and  then,  when  Sabina  had  to  return  to  the  Strand, 
Janie  made  the  voyage  with  her  from  Chelsea  Pier  to  Ilungerford, 
but  could  riot  be  induced  to  go  farther  than  that.  Some  other 
time,  she  said,  she  would  call  and  see  Mr.  Foster  and  Sabina  to- 
gether. 

As  it  chanced,  if  she  had  accompanied  Sabina  home  to  those 
rooms,  she  would  have  found  Fred  Foster  in  a  remarkably  good 
humor. 

"  Ain't  we  smart !"  said  he,  as  he  came  in  (Sabina  had  preceded 
liim  by  but  a  few  minutes).  "Now,  I  do  call  this  uncommonfy 
neat  and  snug  for  the  very  middle  of  London.  Oli,  Janie  helped 
you,  did  she  ?  Give  her  my  love  when  you  sec  her ;  she's  not 
particularly  beautiful,  but  I  consider  those  people  were  awfully 
good  to  you.  Now,  Dame  Durden,  what's  the  programme  for 
this  evening?  To  begin  with,  some  dinner.  The  strong  point 
8* 


178  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

of  this  arrangement  is  that  we  are  not  dependent  on  cooks  or 
butlers  or  anybody  who  may  get  drunk  and  break  things ;  you 
wander  out  into  the  world  of  London  and  dine  where  you  please 
— the  best  of  food  and  the  best  of  wines,  if  you  only  know  where 
to  go ;  no  bother ;  you  can  entertain  your  friends,  too,  when 
fortune  smiles  on  you.  So  off  you  go  and  make  yourself  gor- 
geous, and  we'll  try  the  Cri." 

"The  what?"  she  asked. 

"  The  Criterion.  No ;  let  me  see  ;  we'll  go  to  the  Cafe  Royal ; 
there  I  may  have  a  cigar  after  dinner.  Look  alive,  for  I'm  des- 
perately hungry." 

They  went  to  that  restaurant,  and  Mr.  Fred  showed  considerable 
experience  and  skill  in  ordering  their  little  banquet,  with  its  ap- 
propriate wines.  Sabina  rather  took  him  to  task  for  his  extrava- 
gance ;  but  he  said,  lightly, 

"Oh,  you  let  me  alone.  I've  had  a  little  bit  of  luck  to-day. 
Well,  I  don't  consider  it  luck,  as  I  told  you  before,  I  consider 
it  bare  justice;  it's  only  getting  a  little  of  my  property  back. 
Don't  you  make  any  mistake — the  breast  of  a  partridge  and  a 
glass  of  Poramard  were  specially  invented  by  a  beneficent  Provi- 
dence to  go  together — don't  be  a  fool,  but  do  as  you're  bid.  I 
tell  you  I'm  going  to  look  after  you,  and  see  you  through  this 
turmoil  they  call  life." 

He  was  quite  merry,  indeed,  and  told  her  many  facetious 
stories  about  the  two  or  three  companions  he  had  run  against 
during  the  day ;  indeed,  so  lightly  did  the  time  pass  that  it  was 
after  nine  o'clock  before  he  had  finished  his  cigar  and  was  ready- 
to  leave. 

"I  had  intended  taking  you  to  the  theatre,"  he  said,  as  be 
called  for  his  bill,  "but  that's  the  worst  about  play -going  in 
London  now — the  theatres  are  too  popular;  you  are  never  sure 
of  a  decent  seat,  unless  you  solemnly  make  up  your  mind  a  long 
time  before — as  if  you  were  going  to  be  married,  or  hanged,  or 
something.  Then  they  don't  let  you  smoke.  And  besides, 
you've  got  to  rush  away  in  the  middle  of  your  dinner,  just  when 
one's  inner  consciousness  feels  the  want  of  repose.  Now,  the 
music-halls  don't  give  you  the  highest  form  of  intellectual  enter- 
tainment— I  admit  that.  It  isn't  Shakespeare,  But,  mind  you, 
there's  something  uncommonly  handy  in  your  being  able  to  drop 
in  at  any  time;  always  something  going  on  ;  a  cigar,  or  a  drink. 


SOME   NEW   ACQUAINTANCES.  179 

when  you  want  it;  or  an  evening  paper,  to  vary  the  thing.  Look 
here,  what  do  you  say  to  driving  up  to  tlie  Oxford  for  an  hour?" 

"  The  Oxford  ?"  she  repeated,  inquiringly. 

"Yes;  it's  a  music-hall,  don't  you  know?  Oh,  well,  it  isn't 
high  culture,  as  I  admit,  but  it's  a  way  of  passing  an  hour;  and 
then  you  wouldn't  meet  anybody  —  I  mean,  we  should  get  a 
private  box ;  no  one  would  know  that  you  were  there.  And 
sometimes  there's  very  good  singing." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  she  said,  "  I  think  I  would  as  soon  go 
back  to  our  rooms,  and  see  how  all  our  new  finery  looks." 

"  Oh,  ver)''  well,"  he  said,  contentedly  ;  and  so  they  went  down- 
stairs, and  got  into  a  hansom,  and  were  driven  home. 

Sabina  took  to  planning  and  arranging  and  stitching  where 
that  was  wanted  ;  he  applied  himself  to  Dufton's  excellent  treatise 
on  "Practical  Billiards,"  but  soon  fell  asleep.  When  he  awoke, 
it  was  half-past  eleven ;  and  then  he  proceeded  to  mix  for  him- 
self a  little  spirits  and  water,  as  an  adjunct  to  his  final  cigar. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 
SOME  NEW  ACQUAINTANCES. 


Now,  there  had  been  a  clear  understanding,  if  no  formal  com- 
pact, between  these  two  that  their  life  after  marriage  was  to  be 
in  a  manner  a  combination  of  their  separate  lives  before  it.  He 
was  to  be  at  her  right  hand  in  all  her  various  duties;  she  was  to 
reward  herself  occasionally  by  a  little  participation  in  his  amuse- 
ments. Ue  had  talked  her  over  into  considering  this  a  very  sen- 
sible and  practicable  scheme ;  and  on  the  one  or  two  occasions 
when  he  was  allowed  to  accompany  her  on  her  errands  of  mercy 
and  help,  his  good -humor,  his  shrewd  acquaintance  with  the 
world's  ways,  and  his  vivacious  society,  all  came  in  very  well. 
Unfortunately  for  this  ideal  copartnership,  however,  when  they 
returned  to  London  it  so  happened  that  the  Czarevitch  and  Cam- 
bridgeshire handicaps  had  just  been  published,  and  lie  was  much 
interested  in  the  discussion  of  these  imposts;  and  he  was  away  a 
good  deal  among  acquaintances  whom  he  did  not  care  to  intro- 
duce to  his  wife,  because  their  conversation  was  not  in  the  least 
likely  to  interest  her.      Then    came  the   Doncastcr   September 


180  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

Meeting.  But  when  he  had  spolien  of  Sabina's  giving  herself  a 
little  holiday  relaxation  now  and  again,  he  had  never  thought  of 
proposing  to  her  a  rough-and-tumble  journey  down  to  Yorkshire 
and  back.  He  had  thought  of  a  sunny  afternoon  at  Lord's,  look- 
ing on  at  a  cricket  match  ;  or  a  trip  down  the  river  in  the  steamer 
of  the  Royal  Thames  Yacht  Club  ;  or  the  Oaks,  perhaps,  or  Ascot, 
or  Goodwood — something  pretty  and  lively  and  socially  amusing  ; 
not  this  business-like  meeting  in  the  north.  At  the  same  time 
he  considered  it  prudent,  and  even  kind,  to  break  the  news  of 
his  going  in  an  artful  and  diplomatic  manner. 

"  Dame  Durden,"  said  he,  "  you're  a  young  and  innocent  thing ; 
I  wish  you'd  pray  for  the  success  of  Squire  Tipton." 

"  That's  a  horse,  I  suppose  ?"  she  said,  looking  up  from  her 
books — for  she  now  kept  minute  accounts  of  her  expenditure. 

"  I  should  say  so  ;  and  a  very  good  horse  too.  He's  in  for  the 
Yorkshire  Handicap  on  Tuesday ;  and  seeing  that  he  ran  second 
for  last  year's  St.  Leger,  and  that  he  is  as  fit  as  a  fiddle,  accord- 
ing to  all  accounts,  I  think  he'll  do  the  trick.  That's  Tues- 
day afternoon.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  down  Monday  night; 
there's  a  train  arriving  about  nine.  Then  the  Leger  is  Wednes- 
day-" 

"But  where  is  all  this?"  she  asked,  innocently. 

"  Why,  Doncaster."  And  then  he  added,  "  It  wouldn't  be  worth 
your  while,  would  it,  to  go  all  that  way  and  back  just  for  these 
few  days  ?" 

She  hesitated ;  was  it  not  for  him  to  decide  ? 

"Oh  no,  I'm  sure  it  wouldn't!"  he  said,  instantly,  interpreting 
her  silence  his  own  way.  "  It  isn't  a  ladies'  meeting.  I  wouldn't 
advise  you  to  go.  A  lot  of  fatigue ;  precious  little  amusement. 
You  won't  find  the  time  hang  heavily  on  your  hands,  will  you, 
till  I  come  back  ?" 

"  Indeed  no,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  There's  never  a  day 
long  enough,  it  would  seem." 

The  truth  was  that  she  had  now  to  gather  up  again  all  the 
threads  of  her  charitable  work  that  had  been  temporarily  dropped; 
and  his  devotion  to  his  own  pursuits  left  her  all  the  more  time, 
down  there  in  Chelsea,  in  the  company  of  the  indefatigable  Janie. 
Janie  was  not  at  all  sorry  that  Mr.  Foster  did  not  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance. Why,  it  was  quite  like  old  times  for  her  to  find  her- 
self going  about  with  her  bosom  friend;  and  there  was  always 


SOME   NEW   ACQUAINTANCES.  181 

tea  for  thera,  when  they  wanted  it,  in  Kensington  Square ;  and 
Sabie,  in  Mrs.  Wygram's  eyes,  was  just  as  beautiful  and  gracious 
and  bland  and  good-natured  as  ever,  and  quite  as  submissive  to 
all  the  petting  that  could  be  bestowed  on  her.  These  good  peo- 
ple did  not  seem  to  be  altogether  angry  when  they  heard  that  Mr. 
Foster  was  going  down  to  Doncaster,  though  of  course  they  made 
the  remark  that  it  was  pretty  early  for  hira  to  be  leaving  his 
young  wife. 

But  before  Fred  Foster  went  to  Doncaster  there  were  a  few  lit- 
tle matters  to  be  considered.  On  the  Friday  evening,  when  Sa- 
bina  returned  home,  she  found  him  pacing  up  and  down  the  little 
sitting-roora  in  very  evident  disappointment. 

"  It's  pretty  hard,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  I  must  ask  you  to 
lend  me  a  five-pound  note — " 

"  But  I  will  give  it  you,"  she  said,  promptly,  and  she  went  to 
her  desk  with  a  light  heart.  "  I'm  sure  there  is  not  much  use  in 
talking  of  lending  or  borrowing  as  between  you  and  me — what- 
ever I  have  is  yours  and  welcome." 

"  If  you're  in  such  a  generous  mood,"  he  said,  rather  thankless- 
ly, "you  might  make  the  fiver  a  tenner,  if  you  can." 

"  Well,  I  can,"  she  answered,  "  but  it  won't  leave  me  very 
much." 

"It's  very  absurd,  all  this,''  he  continued,  in  his  grumbling 
way,  and  he  scarcely  regarded  her  counting  out  the  money  on  the 
table.  "  Of  course  I  thought  the  old  man  was  going  to  do  some- 
thing— especially  after  the  fuss  he  made  about  you.  I  consider 
it  very  shabby.  I  don't  care  for  professions  of  interest  and  affec- 
tion that  don't  mean  anything.  Why,  it  was  enough  to  lead  any 
one  into  being  careless — or  at  least  hopeful — the  way  they  both 
treated  you ;  and  they  must  know  very  well  that  a  wedding 
trip  costs  something;  and  I'm  sure  they  couldn't  expect  mc  to 
have  saved  up  a  fortune  out  of  my  allowance — " 

"But  surely,  Fred,  so  long  as  we  can  live  comfortably  enough, 
I  would  not  make  the  relationship  too  much  of  a  mercenary  one  !" 
she  said,  gently.  "  I  am  sure  I  never  thought  their  kindness  to 
me  meant  money.  And  look  how  well  off  we  are  as  compared  to 
many !  It  may  be  annoying  to  be  in  want  of  a  few  sovereigns 
now  and  again  ;  but  look  at  the  comfort  of  knowing  that  our  in- 
come, however  small,  is  assured.  There  are  the  ten  pounds  ;  isn't 
it  enough  ?" 


182  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

"Yes,  it  is  —  for  the  present;  it  is  the  whole  situation  that 
seems  to  me  unbearable,  and  absurd  also." 

"  But  if  you  have  enough,  what  more  would  you  have  ?"  she 
asked — and  she  was  inclined  to  laugh  at  this  spoiled  child.  "  You 
know,  I  shall  be  having  my  little  check  coming  along  on  the  22d." 

"  Yes,  the  twelfth  part  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  he 
said,  bitterly.  "Accurately  divided,  to  the  shilling.  No,  no; 
I  tell  you  it  won't  do,  Sabie.  There  must  be  some  alteration. 
We  ought  to  begin  as  we  mean  to  go  on  ;  and  it  is  easier  for  you 
to  deal  with  your  people  than  for  me  with  mine ;  for  your  father 
is  a  very  rich  man,  with  whom  the  money  itself  can  be  no  object, 
and  I  am  perfectly  certain  he  would  do  the  right  thing — what  he 
ought  in  natural  fairness  to  do — if  he  was  approached  the  right 
way." 

She  glanced  towards  him,  and  then  she  lowered  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  mean  that — that  I  should  ask  ?" 

*'  Yes,  certainly,"  he  said,  bluntly.  "  The  very  least  he  can  do 
is  to  give  you  the  allowance  you  had  before  you  were  married. 
Surely  there  is  as  much  need  of  it  now  as  then  !  That  is  the 
very  least  you  ought  to  ask  for." 

A  faint  color  overspread  her  forehead. 

"  You  don't  know,"  she  said,  in  a  rather  low  voice,  "  what  his 
manner  was  towards  me  when  that  matter  was  settled — and — how 
he  spoke  of  you." 

"Oh,  that  I  understand  perfectly  well,"  he  said,  impatiently. 
"  Why,  it's  the  common  story.  Of  course  people  say  nasty  things 
when  they  don't  like  a  marriage ;  and  goodness  knows  he's  wel- 
come to  call  me  all  the  names  he  can  think  of.  But  that's  nei- 
ther here  nor  there.  We  can't  afford  to  take  a  little  display  of 
temper  for  more  than  it  is  worth.  It's  only  on  the  stage  that 
parents  curse  their  disobedient  daughter,  and  drive  her  forth,  and 
keep  impossible  vows  about  never  seeing  her  again.  Blood  is 
thicker  than  water,  depend  on  it.  I  have  no  doubt  your  father 
was  annoyed ;  I  dare  say  I  should  have  been  annoyed  if  I  had 
been  in  his  place ;  and,  mind,  you  had  been  leading  him  on  to  be 
annoyed.  I  don't  understand  it  at  all  ;  you  can  manage  every- 
body else  you  come  across — why  did  you  quarrel  with  him?" 

"  There  was  no  quarrel,  that  I  know  of,"  Sabina  said,  simply, 
"  but  we  had  different  ways  of  looking  at  things,  that  is  all. 
When  I  left  the  house  it  was  on  a  quite  friendly  understanding." 


SOME   NEW   ACQUAINTANCES.  183 

"  Oh,  well,  he  has  simmered  down  by  this  time.  And  really 
something  must  be  done.     Will  you  write  to  him  ?" 

"  Fred,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  entreaty  in  her  voice,  "  if  you 
only  knew  the  things  he  said — " 

"  My  dear  creature,  if  you  paid  heed  to  the  things  that  are  said 
about  you,  or  thought  about  you,  life  would  be  intolerable.  Let 
us  get  to  something  of  more  importance  than  that.  And  the 
immediate  and  actual  thing  is,  that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  go 
on  in  this  hand-to-mouth  way." 

And  yet  still  she  hesitated.  Of  course,  he  could  not  know 
everything  of  her  father's  demeanor  towards  her  during  that  in- 
terview— the  cold  exactitude  of  his  phrases,  his  contemptuous  re- 
ferences to  the  man  who  was  about  to  become  her  husband.  lie 
could  not  understand  how  eager  she  had  been  that  he  would  agree 
to  her  renouncing  that  allowance  altogether,  and  with  what  a  re- 
current shame  and  mortification  it  was  that  she  felt  herself  com- 
pelled, month  by  month,  to  receive  money  from  such  a  source. 
And  now — to  sit  down  and  write  for  more! 

A  happy  idea  struck  her. 

"  Besides,  it  would  be  no  use  writing,"  she  said,  "  for  they  are 
abroad  at  present." 

"  Oh  no,  they're  not,"  he  said,  "  begging  your  pardon.  Look 
at  this." 

He  handed  her  an  evening  paper,  and  showed  her  a  paragraph 
in  it: 

"  Sir  Anthony  and  Lady  Zembra  have  arrived  in  town  from  a 
protracted  sojourn  at  Davos- Piatz.  They  proceed  next  week  on 
a  visit  to  Dikeley  Hall,  Suffolk,  the  country  residence  of  Isambard 
Zembra,  Esq.,  of  Red  House,  Campden  Hill." 

Sabina  recognized  the  style  of  the  patient  chronicler  of  the 
house  of  Zembra — Miss  Renshaw,  the  governess,  that  is  to  say — 
and  knew  that  the  information  was  likely  to  be  correct. 

"  It  is  a  capital  opportunity,"  he  said,  with  a  little  facctlousncss. 
"They're  coming  back  flushed  with  their  holidays.  They'll  im- 
agine you've  been  cooped  up  in  London  all  the  time;  and  surely 
they  will  take  pity  on  honest  poverty.  Oh,  don't  you  be  afraid 
of  pitching  the  supplication  pretty  strong.  What  is  the  writing 
of  a  letter?  Ten  minutes'  work — with  a  substantial  reward  if  you 
do  it  well  enough.  And  you  may  depend  on  it,  it  won't  be  pre- 
served as  a  record  against  you.      Sir  Anthony  won't  show  that 


184  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

letter  about ;  it  will  be  torn  up  directly  he  lias  read  it.  Why, 
wouldn't  his  constituents  like  to  be  told  that  the  rich  Sir  Anthony 
allowed  his  eldest  daughter  the  princely  revenue  of  twelve  pound 
ten  shillings  a  month,  and  that  she  had  to  write  to  him  for  more? 
A  pretty  story  for  the  local  journals !  a  pretty  cry  at  the  next 
election  !  No,  no ;  you  may  make  your  prayer  as  pathetic  as  ever 
you  like ;  that  is  one  thing  about  himself  that  he  won't  have  sent 
to  the  public  press." 

Well,  for  some  time  she  sat  in  silent  consideration,  while  he  lit 
a  cigar  and  proceeded  to  scan  the  contents  of  the  evening  paper. 
And  if  the  truth  were  known,  it  was  not  Fred  Foster,  nor  any  of 
his  wants  or  wishes,  that  finally  overcame  her  deep  reluctance  and 
induced  her  to  write  to  her  father.  It  was  of  a  great  many  other 
people  she  was  thinking — honest,  well-meaning  people  she  took 
them  to  be,  and  industrious  when  they  had  the  chance — who  yet 
had  fallen  into  untoward  circumstances  in  the  general  fight  of  the 
world,  and  had  come  to  look  on  her  as  their  wisest  counsellor  and 
best  and  generous  friend.  The  winter  months  would  deal  hardly 
with  many  of  these  poor  folk.  Scant  food,  scant  firing,  scant 
clothing  would  become  the  parents  of  illness  ;  illness  meant  en- 
forced idleness ;  it  was  those  of  them  who  were  too  proud  to  ac- 
cept of  parish  relief  who  suffered  the  most  and  needed  the  most 
skilful  management,  if  they  were  to  be  helped  at  all.  Then  she 
thought  of  her  own  little  store.  Twenty-five  pounds  a  month 
used  to  be  abundance  ;  but  now  that  was  cut  down  by  one-half ; 
moreover,  there  were  a  good  many  small  incidental  expenses  con- 
nected with  this  modest  establishment  which  she  had  hardly  looked 
forward  to,  and  which  her  husband  did  not  seem  to  think  it  was  his 
business  to  deal  with.  In  point  of  fact,  she  had  never  yet  received 
a  farthing  from  him  —  though  he  had  bought  her  presents,  and 
•would  have  bought  her  more,  only  that  she  protested  against  his 
extrava<Tance.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  lent  liira  from  her  small 
hoardings  until  (as  she  thought  of  certain  families  she  knew)  she 
was  almost  afraid  to  see  what  a  pittance  was  left,  and  if  there  was 
really  a  chance  that  her  father  would  listen.  It  was  scarcely  ask- 
ing for  herself — it  was  rather  begging  for  her  poor  ones.  And  so 
in  the  end  she  consented  to  write. 

And  yet,  as  she  wrote,  she  could  not  help  remembering  her  fa- 
ther's manner  to  her,  and  she  was  not  very  confident.  Nor  could 
she  demean  herself  by  making  too  piteous  an  appeal.     No  ;  she 


SOME   NEW   ACQUAINTANCES.  185 

merely  asked  him  to  recoasider  the  arrangement  he  had  made, 
and  hoped  that  he  would  see  his  way  to  making  her  the  same  al- 
lowance that  he  had  formerly  made  her,  seeing  that  her  marriage 
had  not  interfered  at  all,  and  was  not  likely  to  interfere,  with  those 
little  charitable  undertakings  that  used  to  have  at  least  his  tacit 
approval.  And  she  trusted  that  his  annoyance  with  her  over  the 
step  she  had  taken  would  cease  in  time — she  looked  forward  to 
that. 

Sabina  handed  the  letter  to  her  husband,  and  he  took  it  and 
read  it. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  lightly,  "  it's  rather  a  business-like  production, 
and  there  isn't  much  of  the  ad  misericordiam,  in  forma  pauperis 
kind  of  thing  in  it ;  but  I  dare  say  it  will  do  very  well.  The  old 
gentleman  is  too  much  of  a  man  of  the  world  to  continue  a  quar- 
rel with  his  daughter  over  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year." 

He  rose  and  got  his  hat  and  cane. 

"  Come  along,  Dame  Durden,"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "  We'll 
post  this  letter  so  that  he'll  get  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning; 
and  then  we'll  drive  up  to  the  Cafe  Roval  and  have  a  bit  of  din- 
ner." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  much  cheaper  to  have  some  little  thing  here  ?" 
she  suggested — thinking  of  the  lent  sovereigns  and  her  dimin- 
ished store. 

"Not  for  this  negro  minstrel.  No;  I  may  trust  Mother  Sim- 
mons as  far  as  a  boiled  egg  goes,  or  even  a  chop  for  lunch,  but  no 
further.     Come  along,  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  hawk." 

And  very  merry  and  cheerful  he  was  as  they  went  out,  appar- 
ently taking  it  for  granted  that  Sir  Anthony  would  consent.  Per- 
haps the  borrowed  sovereigns  in  his  waistcoat-pocket  added  to 
his  high  spirits ;  at  all  events,  when  the  letter  had  been  posted 
he  would  have  Sabina  get  into  a  hansom — though  she  was  quite 
willing  to  walk;  and  when  they  had  got  up  to  the  cafe  and  taken 
their  places,  he  proceeded  to  order  a  little  dinner  that  seemed  to 
her  quite  unnecessarily  prodigal. 

"The  question  now  lies  between  Burgundy  and  champagne," 
he  observed.  "  What  do  you  say  to  that  Bollinger  we  tried  the 
other  day  ?" 

"I  won't  have  any  wine,  thank  you,"  she  answered. 

•'  Why  not  ?" 

"I  would  rather  not  have  any,  thank  you,"  she  said,  simply. 


186  6ABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  Well,  that  is  pretty  hard  on  me,"  he  remarked,  with  rueful 
sincerity.  "  For  when  we  have  a  whole  bottle,  I  get  two-thirds 
of  it ;  but  when  I  order  a  pint,  it  is  only  a  pint.  Come,  Sabie, 
change  your  mind — I  want  you  to  drink  good -luck  to  Squire 
Tipton." 

"  Really,  I  would  rather  have  no  wine,"  she  said. 

"  Then  a  pint  it  must  be,"  he  said ;  and  he  ordered  that — 
while  she  had  some  water. 

They  had  just  finished  dinner,  and  Foster  was  pulling  out  his 
cigar-case,  when  two  friends  of  his  came  along,  and  nodded  to 
him  as  they  passed  the  little  table.  The  one  was  a  middle-aged, 
shortish  man,  spare  of  frame,  with  a  keen,  weather-tanned  face, 
prominent  blue  eyes,  and  a  carefully  waxed  mustache;  the  other 
a  tall  young  man,  with  rather  flabby,  clean-shaven  cheeks,  very 
light  liair,  vacant  eyes,  and  listless  demeanor.  Both  were  in  even- 
ing dress,  their  light  overcoats  being  over  their  arm. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Raby,"  Foster  called  after  them,  and  they 
both  turned;  "I  want  to  introduce  you  to  my  wife  —  Captain 
Raby— Mr.  Russell—" 

The  tall,  apathetic  young  man  merely  bowed ;  but  Captain 
Raby  said,  "  Proud  to  have  the  honor  of  making  your  acquaint- 
ance, Mrs.  Foster,"  and  stared  at  her  so  curiously  that  she  dropped 
her  eyes. 

"  I  say,  what  are  you  after  to-night?"  Foster  continued,  regard- 
ing them  both.  "  Won't  you  come  down  and  smoke  a  cigar  in 
my  diggings — in  the  Strand,  don't  you  know  ?" 

The  shorter  of  the  two  gentlemen  was  still  looking  at  Sabina 
— examining  her  almost. 

"Delighted,  I  am  sure,"  he  said,  "  if  Mrs.  Foster  will  permit." 

"  Oh,  she  doesn't  mind  a  cigar  or  two,"  Fred  Foster  put  in,  in- 
stantly. "  Come  along.  AVe'U  go  down  in  two  hansoms.  Tell 
your  man  to  follow  us — we  will  show  you  where  to  pull  up." 

In  the  cab  Sabina  said  to  him, 

"  Who  are  these  two  ?" 

"The  little  man  is  Captain  Raby — a  very  good  sort  of  fellow 
— and  as  sharp  as  a  needle.  He  manages  all  Lord  Tynemouth's 
turf  affairs  for  him." 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  she  said. 

"  Why,  you  haven't  spoken  a  word  to  him  yet !  Oh  yes,  he's 
a  very  good  sort  of  fellow — and  one  worth  knowing." 


SOME   NEW   ACQUAINTANCES.  187 

"  And  tlie  other  ?" 

"  Russell !  Don't  you  know  Russell  &  Schroeder  in  Oxford 
Street?  Of  course  you  do.  Not  that  he  lias  anything  to  do  with 
the  business ;  it's  his  happy  occupation  to  spend  the  money  that 
has  been  made  in  it." 

"He  seems  a  soft-looking  youth,"  was  Sabina's  sole  comment. 

"Johnny  Russell,"  answered  her  husband,  significantly,  "  is  a 
very  valuable  young  man — an  extremely  valuable  young  man." 

When  they  had  all  arrived  at  the  rooms  in  the  Strand,  Fred 
Foster  became  his  own  butler,  and  produced  cigars,  soda-water, 
brandy,  and  also  a  pack  of  cards,  while  Captain  Raby  devoted 
himself  to  Sabina,  staring  at  her  as  he  spoke.  It  was  sixpenny 
"  Nap "  they  were  going  to  play,  and  nothing  would  do  them 
but  that  Sabina  should  join  in ;  and  she,  being  a  good-natured 
kind  of  creature,  consented,  though  in  her  manner  there  was  a 
trifle  more  reserve  than  usually  appeared  there  when  she  joined 
a  friendly  little  game  at  the  Wygrams'  of  an  evening.  Captain 
Raby  appeared  to  care  very  little  about  the  cards ;  he  played  me- 
chanically and  indifferently,  and  was  mostly  concerned  in  chat- 
ting across  the  table  to  Sabina  —  his  talk  chiefly  consisting  of 
little  sarcastic  comments  about  her  husband  and  his  ways  and 
doings.  Moreover,  whenever  she  lifted  her  eyes — as  sometimes 
she  did  in  a  puzzled  kind  of  fashion,  for  she  understood  the 
game  but  slightly,  and  was  oftentimes  uncertain  as  to  what  she 
should  do — invariably  she  found  his  eyes  regarding  her,  and  that 
in  a  curiously  familiar  way.  He  said  nothing  to  offend,  but  his 
manner  was  unpleasant ;  and  Sabina  gradually  withdrew  herself 
from  any  conversation,  attending  to  the  cards  in  a  perfunctory 
way,  and  anxious  only  to  escape.  At  last,  when  the  mild  youth 
had  boldly  gone  Nap,  and  got  it,  too.  Captain  Raby  said, 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do  now.  Three  Nap  is  as  good  as 
any.  Now,  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Foster  is  having  a  fair  chance. 
You  haven't  played  much,  have  you,  Mrs.  Foster?  Well,  now,  I 
will  come  and  sit  beside  you  and  play  your  hand  for  you — give 
you  advice,  anyway — I  would  just  as  soon  look  on — and  we'll  sec 
if  we  can't  mend  matters  a  little." 

He  rose;  but  Sabina  refused  his  offer  on  the  ground  that  she 
wished  to  withdraw  from  the  game  anyway.  She  had  a  slight 
headache  ;  she  would  rather  leave  them  to  themselves.  There  was 
a  little  bit  of  a  scrimmage  after  this,  the  pale-faced  youth  timidly 


188  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

pleading  with  her  to  remain,  Fred  Foster  laughing  at  her  for  be- 
ing a  bad  loser,  Captain  Raby  almost  insisting  that  she  and  he 
together  should  play  the  same  hand,  and  rout  their  foes.  Sabina 
gently  persisted,  and  with  a  little  dignity,  too;  she  withdrew 
from  the  table  to  an  arm-chair,  and  took  a  book ;  and  then  they 
continued  the  game  by  themselves,  with  the  addition  of  a  half-a- 
crown  pool  to  increase  the  attraction. 

They  played  late,  Sabina  wondering  the  while  when  they  would 
go.  And  even  after  they  had  risen  from  the  cards,  Captain  Raby 
would  light  another  cigar,  and  would  come  and  talk  to  Sabina  in 
his  gaHant  way,  and  promise  to  see  that  her  husband  got  into  no 
mischief  down  at  Doncaster.  Immediately  they  had  gone,  Fred 
Foster  said  to  her, 

"  Well,  Madam  Dignity,  what  offended  you  to-night?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  in  particular,"  she  said,  and  then  she  looked  up. 
"  What  is  that  Captain  Raby  a  captain  in  ?" 

"He  was  in  the  militia,  I  believe." 

"  I  don't  think  he's  a  gentleman,"  she  said, 

"  Well,  I  like  that,"  Foster  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  He's  Lord 
Tynemouth's  brother-in-law,  at  any  rate." 

She  made  no  reply  to  this. 

"Perhaps  you  preferred  the  draper?"  he  asked. 

"Mr.  Russell?  Yes,  I  preferred  his  manner  very  much.  And 
I  suppose  he  is  no  more  feeble  and  foolish  than  other  brainless 
young  men  of  the  same  type." 

"  Well,  we're  in  a  very  hypercritical  vein  this  evening,"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  with  some  surprise.  "  You'll  have  to  learn,  my 
dear,  that  the  world  is  made  up  of  all  sorts,  and  one  can't  have 
one's  friends  all  turned  out  regulation  pattern.  I  suppose  there 
are  some  Admirable  Crichtons  somewhere,  but  they  don't  abound 
in  the  Strand ;  and  they  won't  play  whist  to  lighten  the  journey 
down  to  Doncaster.  The  one  isn't  a  gentleman,  and  the  other  is 
a  fool?  Well,  fool  or  no  fool,  he  managed  to  rob  me  of  three 
golden  sovereigns  this  evening,  that  I  shall  have  to  get  back  from 
him  somehow  or  other  next  week.  Three  golden  sovereigns  to 
an  infant  like  that !  No  matter ;  we'll  put  it  straight  next  week, 
I  have  no  doubt.  So  you  go  away  to  bed  now;  and  don't  for- 
get to  pray  that  your  father  may  arise  in  a  blessed  and  heavenly 
temper  to-morrow  morning." 


WAYS    AND    MEANS,  189 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

WATS    AND    MEANS, 

The  answer  of  Sir  Anthony  Zembra  to  his  daughter's  reluctant 
petition  arrived  just  as  she  and  her  husband  were  going  out  for 
the  evening,  Mr.  Foster  had  been  presented  with  a  couple  of 
stalls  at  one  of  the  theatres  in  the  Strand  ;  so  he  proposed  that 
they  should  dine  at  a  restaurant  and  go  to  the  play  afterwards. 
But  the  appearance  of  this  important  letter  drove  both  dinner 
and  theatre  out  of  Fred  Foster's  head. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  affected  indifference,  as  she  glanced  over 
the  contents,  "  does  Jupiter  nod  favorably,  or  is  this  another 
thunder-bolt?" 

Sabina  did  not  answer;  her  face  had  flushed  suddenly — with 
anger  or  indignation  ;  and  she  folded  the  letter  again  quickly. 

"  Let  me  see  it." 

He  held  out  his  hand ;  she  withdrew  an  inch  or  two. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  need  not  read  it.  He  refuses.  I  thought 
he  would — so  I  suppose  it  doesn't  much  matter." 

"And  he  says  something  about  mc  that  I  am  not  to  look  at? 
Do  you  think  I  am  a  child,  or  a  fool  ?     Let's  see  it." 

He  took  the  letter  from  her,  and  opened  it,  and  read  as  follows : 

"Dear  Sabixa, — I  think  you  are  aware  that  I  never  waste 
words.  I  told  you  that  you  were  free  to  go  your  own  way,  and 
order  your  life  as  you  thought  best ;  and  I  named  the  sum  I  was 
willing  to  allow  for  your  own  personal  maintenance.  I  must 
decline  to  increase  that  sum  in  order  to  enable  you  to  support  a 
lot  of  paupers — including  your  husband. 

"  Yours  truly,  Anthony  Zembra," 

He  laughed  aloud ;  but  it  was  a  rueful  kind  of  laugh. 

"Pretty  mad,  isn't  he?  I  thought  the  old  gentleman  would 
have  become  a  little  reasonable  by  now.  Well,  we'll  have  to  wait 
— as  best  we  can." 

It  was  the  refusal  of  the  money  that  chiefly  concerned  him ; 


190  SABINA   ZEMBEA. 

the  insnit  levelled  at  himself  be  did  not  seem  to  mind  in  the 
least.  Indeed,  he  threw  the  letter  carelessly  on  to  the  table,  took 
up  his  hat,  gloves,  and  cane  again,  and  then,  when  he  was  ready, 
he  held  open  the  door  to  let  Sabina  pass  out. 

"  We'll  have  to  hurry  over  this  banquet,"  said  he,  lightly,  "  if 
you  want  to  see  the  beginning  of  the  piece." 

All  the  same,  he  was  rather  silent  during  dinner,  and  he  did 
not  seem  to  care  much  for  the  little  comedy  they  went  to  see 
thereafter.  When  they  got  back  to  their  rooms,  and  he  had  lit  a 
cigar,  and  ensconced  himself  in  a  low  easy-chair,  he  revealed  what 
he  had  been  thinking  of  all  the  evening  by  his  first  ejaculation. 

"It  is  a  confounded  nuisance,"  he  said,  impatiently. 

"  Fred,"  said  she,  "  don't  you  think  we  might  manage  to  live  a 
little  more  economically  than  we  do,  and  so  mend  matters  that 
way?  Dining  at  restaurants  is  so  expensive;  if  you  didn't  mind 
being  content  with  what  they  can  do  for  us  here,  you  might' have 
your  own  wine  sent  in,  and  that  would  make  a  great  difference. 
And  you  know  you  are  so  dreadfully  extravagant  about  cabs — or 
careless,  rather,  I  should  say." 

"  Oh,  it's  no  use  talking  like  that,"  he  interrupted.  "  Saving 
twopence-farthing  here  or  there  won't  put  matters  straight.  What 
I  want  to  know  is  what  income  we  can  definitely  calculate  on." 

"But  you  know,"  she  said. 

"What?  What  we  have  at  present?  Oh  no,  no;  that  won't 
do  at  all ;  that  I  look  on  as  provisional ;  it  was  always  understood 
to  be  so.     Of  course  we  can't  go  on  like  this." 

Well,  she  did  not  answer;  though  she  might  have  reminded 
him  of  her  repeated  warnings  that  Sir  Anthony  would  prove  im- 
placable, of  which  his  cheerful  optimism  would  take  no  heed.  Nor 
did  she  further  insist  on  their  cutting  their  coat  according  to  such 
cloth  as  they  had  in  the  mean  time ;  nor  did  she  venture  to  sug- 
gest that  he  might  turn  his  attention  to  some  pursuit  more  settled 
and  profitable  than  playing  billiard-matches  and  backing  horses. 
For  these  considerations  were  -obvious ;  and  no  man  likes  to  be 
preached  at. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  he,  gloomily  staring  at  his  out-stretched 
legs  and  the  tips  of  his  patent-leather  boots, "  you've  only  made 
matters  worse  by  writing  that  letter." 

"  I  am  sure  I  did  not  wish  to  write  it,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  No,  of  course  not.     I  don't  suppose  you  did.    But  people 


WAYS   AND   MEANS.  191 

have  often  to  do  what  they  have  no  wish  to  do ;  and  the  best  way 
then  is  to  do  it  with  as  good  a  grace  as  possible.  I  think  you  might 
have  made  that  letter  a  little  more  complacent.  There  was  no 
use  showing  you  did  it  unwillingly — of  course  he  would  sav, '  Oh, 
this  is  a  business  communication  ;  and  I'll  answer  it  as  such.' " 

Sabina  sate  silent.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  found  fault  with 
her.  And  she  did  not  remind  him  that  he  had  seen  the  letter  be- 
fore it  was  sent,  and  that,  if  it  did  not  please  him,  he  might  have 
remonstrated  then. 

Nor  was  he  inclined  to  be  much  more  cheerful  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  as  he  stood  at  the  window  and  idly  thrummed  on 
the  pane.  Indeed,  the  Strand  early  on  a  Sunday  morning  is  not 
a  sight  to  raise  any  one's  spirits,  even  when  it  is  flooded  with 
London's  sickly  sunshine.  It  is  like  a  city  of  the  dead.  The 
shops  are  shut,  the  buildings  deserted,  the  pavements  empty ;  at 
long  intervals  a  solitary  four-wheeler — looking  somehow  as  if  it 
had  been  out  all  night,  and  got  lost,  and  was  groping  its  way  slow- 
ly home — comes  stealthily  along  the  hushed  wooden  highway, 
the  footfalls  of  the  horse  sounding  faint  and  distant.  Mr.  Fred 
Foster  turned  from  that  depressing  spectacle,  and  took  to  the 
sporting  papers  he  had  purchased  the  night  before. 

And  then  he  threw  these  aside. 

"  Look  here,  Sabie,  something  must  be  done.  That  letter  has 
only  made  matters  worse.  Your  father  seems  more  determined 
in  his  unreasonableness  than  ever ;  if  you  let  him  go  on  like  that, 
it  will  become  confirmed,  and  then  good-by  to  everybody's  expec- 
tations. The  mischief  done  by  that  letter  must  be  undone  some- 
how, and  at  once.  Of  course  it  isn't  about  any  immediate  and 
temporary  thing  that  I  am  thinking — I  dare  say  one  could  al- 
ways put  one's  hand  on  a  few  sovereigns  if  there  was  need — it's 
the  long  future  that  I'm  looking  to;  and  something  must  be  done. 
And  it  isn't  merely  doubling  your  allowance  that  has  to  be  thought 
of — an  additional  twelve-pound-ten  a  month  isn't  a  great  thing — 
it's  his  attitude  towards  you.  Your  father  is  a  very  rich  man  ; 
you  are  his  eldest  daughter — the  only  one  married ;  it's  absurd 
that  he  shouldn't  do  something  substanlial  and  handsome  for  you. 
"Why,  how  would  he  like  it  to  be  known  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  would  care,"  said  Sabina,  who  knew  her  fa- 
ther a  good  deal  better  than  Mr.  Fred  Foster  did. 

"I  say  it  is  quite  preposterous,"  he  continued,  impatiently. 


192  SABINA   ZEMBEA. 

"  Yon  may  asTc  why  I  don't  appeal  to  my  own  people.  But  that's 
different.  They're  in  the  right  mood  ;  they'll  do  the  right  thing 
by-and-by.  I  don't  want  to  press  them  just  at  present.  My  fa- 
ther is  inclined  to  be  cautious,  and  suspicious,  even  ;  but  the  Ma- 
ter's always  on  my  side;  they'll  be  all  right  by-and-by.  But  this 
other  affair  is  very  serious,  looking  to  the  future.  And  if  you 
ask  me,  I  think  there's  only  one  thing  to  be  done." 

"  What,  then  ?"  she  asked ;  though  this  talk  about  money  rath- 
er depressed  her — she  hardly  knew  why. 

"  You  should  go  and  see  him — this  very  day." 

She  started  slightly. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  boldly.  "  That's  the  proper  way.  Any- 
body can  answer  a  letter;  a  letter  can't  make  an  appeal;  a  letter 
hasn't  to  be  faced.  Here  you  have  such  a  chance — your  father  in 
town — you  would  be  sure  of  seeing  him  in  the  afternoon — and 
then  if  you  went  and  told  him  how  you  were  situated,  and  put 
the  thing  fairly  and  properly  to  him,  and  were  civil  to  him,  how 
could  he  refuse  ?" 

Sbe  was  looking  at  him — with  a  strange,  startled  look. 

"  Fred,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  would  you  have  me  go  and  ask 
money  from  my  father,  after  what  he  called  you  in  that  letter?" 

He  saw  the  surprise  in  her  face,  and  the  reproach  too  ;  perhaps 
it  was  the  consciousness  that  these  were  not  uncalled  for  that 
made  him  all  the  more  impatient,  and  even  vexed  and  angry. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  very  well  for  you  to  have  romantic  notions,"  he 
said,  bluntly,  "  but  you'll  find  as  you  live  longer  in  the  world  that 
they  won't  wash.  Do  you  think  I  care  what  your  father  thinks 
about  me  ?  Not  one  bit.  He  may  call  me  a  hundred  names  in  a 
day  if  he  likes.  Would  you  like  me  to  tell  you  what  I  think 
about  him  ?  Perhaps  you  wouldn't.  I  dare  say  he  wouldn't  care 
either.  But  what's  that  got  to  do  with  giving  him  the  opportu- 
nity of  doing  the  right  thing  by  his  own  daughter  ?  I  don't  ask 
for  his  money.  It's  as  much  your  affair  as  mine.  I  want  to  give 
him  the  chance  of  acting  like  a  reasonable  human  being;  and  it 
isn't  to-morrow  or  next  day  that  I'm  thinking  about,  but  at  a  very 
long  future,  as  I  say." 

Sabina's  eyes  were  downcast  now ;  her  face  was  somewhat  pale, 

"  There  are  some  women  who  are  well  off,"  she  said.  "  They 
can  earn  tlieir  own  living,  without  taking  a  penny  from  any  one. 
I  wish  I  could  do  that.     I  would  work  hard  enough." 


WAYS    AND    MKANS.  193 

•'There  you  are  with  your  romantics  again,"  he  comphiined. 
"  What  would  you  like  to  do  ? — stitch  shirts  at  ninepence  a  day  ? 
or  stand  behind  the  counter  in  a  telegraph-office?" 

The  uiaid-servant  came  in  with  breakfast,  so  that  conversation 
had  to  cease.  But  he  knew  that  he  had  spoken  with  unnecessary 
harshness;  and  when  breakfast  was  over,  and  he  had  taken  up 
one  of  the  sporting  journals,  he  began  to  excuse  himself  a  little. 

"I  only  want  you  to  exercise  a  little  common-sense,  Sabie,"  he 
said.  "  People  must  put  their  pride  in  their  pocket  at  times.  Of 
course,  a  noble  self-respect  is  a  very  tine  thing;  and  if  I  were  a 
duke,  with  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  a  year,  I  should  worship 
myself  like  a  little  god  and  expect  everybody  else  to  do  the  same. 
But  poor  folk  like  you  and  me,  my  dear,  can't  afford  to  have  more 
than  an  ordinary,  decent,  Christian-like  allowance  of  pride — no, 
we  shouldn't  have  any  if  we  are  to  be  like  Christians — we  should 
cultivate  humility;  and  if  people  call  us  ugly  names,  we  should 
say  that  probably  we  deserve  them.  Bless  you,  what  harm  can 
the  calling  of  names  do  you?  Besides,  he  said  nothing  of  the 
kind  to  you ;  I  was  the  happy  recipient — " 

"Do  you  think  I  make  any  difference  of  that  kind?"  she  said, 
quickly  ;  and  there  was  no  humility  at  all,  but  a  wounded  and  in- 
dignant pride  in  the  expression  of  the  sensitive  mouth  and  the 
beautiful  clear  eyes.  "  No,  when  I  read  that,  it  was  as  if — as  if 
he  had  struck  me  !" 

"Oh,"  said  he,  coolly,  "you  must  cultivate  a  little  wholesorao 
indifference.  You'll  never  get  through  the  world  at  all  if  you  are 
so  thin-skinned.  Besides,  if  you  think  he  has  done  you  an  injury, 
or  me,  or  both  of  us,  don't  you  think  it  would  only  be  magnani- 
mous to  give  him  the  chance  of  atoning?" 

"You  would  have  me  ask  for  money — after  that  insult?" 

He  did  not  answer,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  get  angry  again  ;  so 
he  returned  to  his  newspaper,  and  Sabina  took  up  a  book  and 
read  till  it  was  time  to  go  to  church.     She  went  to  church  alone. 

When  she  returned  they  had  lunch  together,  and  Foster  was 
again  in  a  somewhat  fretful  mood. 

"I  don't  sec  why  you  should  look  at  it  in  that  way,"  ho  said, 
just  as  if  the  subject  had  never  been  dropped.  "The  only  thing 
that  pride  does  is  to  keep  up  family  quarrels.  It's  absunl  that 
your  father  and  you  should  be  on  such  terms  ;  and  how  is  the  sit- 
uation to  be  altered  so  long  as  you  have  these  high-flying  notions? 
9 


194  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

Any  other  girl  would  go  to  her  father  and  make  it  up  in  five  min- 
utes. Can't  you  look  at  it  that  way?  Put  the  money  out  of  the 
question.  Here  is  a  Sunday ;  your  father  will  be  at  home  this 
afternoon;  why  not  go  and  make  up  a  family  quarrel?" 

"  Fred,"  she  said — and  the  distress  that  was  in  her  face  was  a 
piteous  thing  to  see — "  don't  ask  me  to  go  !" 

"Then  you  give  the  whole  thing  up?"  he  asked. 

"  You  see  what  he  says,"  she  pleaded.  "  Could  anything  be 
more  distinct?" 

"  Oh,  very  well — I  suppose  it's  all  right." 

After  lunch  he  took  up  his  hat  and  cane,  and  said  to  her, 

*'  I'm  going  along  to  see  Dick  Raby,  to  fix  about  the  train  to 
Doncaster  to-morrow.  I  suppose  one  must  try  to  pick  up  a  few 
sovereigns  somehow." 

"Shall  I  wait  till  you  come  back?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh  no  ;  not  if  you  have  anything  to  do.  Most  likely  I  sha'n't 
be  back  till  about  seven." 

When  he  had  gone  she  sate  for  some  little  time  pondering  over 
these  things.  And  perhaps  there  was  some  cause  for  his  vexa- 
tion? Perhaps  she  had  not  told  iiim  clearly  enough  what  manner 
of  man  her  father  was,  and  warned  him  with  sufficient  distinct- 
ness that  any  resolve  of  his  would  be  final  ?  And  perhaps  when 
he  asked  her  to  go  and  make  a  personal  appeal  to  her  father  he 
did  not  quite  understand  the  humiliation  that  would  involve? 
Men  were  less  quick  to  perceive  such  things  than  women.  If  he 
had  known  what  that  interview  must  necessarily  mean,  surely  he 
would  not  have  asked  her  to  go  ? 

By-and-by — and  still  in  a  somewhat  thoughtful  mood — she  put 
on  her  things  and  went  out,  taking  the  underground  railway  down 
to  Kensington.  She  had  just  turned  into  Kensington  Square 
when  she  caught  sight  of  Janie  coming  away  from  the  house,  and 
it  was  very  grateful  to  her  (for  she  was  a  little  depressed,  some- 
how) to  notice  the  quiet  look  of  pleasure  that  instantly  appeared 
in  Janie's  wistful  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Sabie,  this  is  so  kind  of  you  !  All  the  morning  I  kept 
saying  to  myself,  '  I  wonder  if  Sabie  will  come  this  afternoon  ?'  " 

"And  that  is  why  you  left  the  house?"  Sabina  said,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Oh,  but  I  meant  to  be  back  in  time.  I  did  not  expect  you 
so  early." 


"WAYS    AND    MEANS.  195 

"  And  where  are  you  off  to  ?" 

"Will  you  go  with  me,  Sabie?"  she  said,  eagerly.  "I  was 
going  up  to  Walter  Lindsay's  studio.  I  had  a  letter  from  him 
yesterday  morning,  and  he  reminded  me  that  I  offered  to  go  up 
from  time  to  time  and  see  that  everything  was  going  on  all  right. 
Won't  you  come?  It  will  be  a  nice  walk.  And  mother's  lying 
down  just  now.     We'll  have  tea  when  we  come  back." 

And  so  Janie  found  herself  once  more  walking  along  Kensing- 
ton High  Street  with  her  beloved  Sabie,  and  up  the  Campden 
Hill  Road,  and  over  to  Notting  Hill ;  and  proud  and  pleased  she 
was,  and  on  this  occasion  (as  on  many  a  former  one)  all  the  talk 
was  of  Walter  Lindsay. 

"And  where  is  Mr.  Lindsay  now?"  Sabina  asked,  to  humor 
her. 

"  Still  in  New  York.  He  is  having  a  caravan  built  for  himself 
— a  studio  on  wheels,  you  know — and  when  that  is  quite  ready, 
lie  is  going  away — oh,  I  don't  know  how  far.  But  he  is  to  send 
me  his  address  from  time  to  time — just  in  case  there  should  be 
any  news  for  him  ;  and  you  know  the  news  he  will  look  for — it's 
news  about  you,  Sabie." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  Sabina  said,  but  not  ill-naturedly. 
"  What  news  could  he  want  to  hear  about  me  ?" 

"That  you  are  well  and  happy — I  think  that's  all  he  would 
want  to  hear." 

"  You  are  a  very  sentimental  young  woman,  Janie,  and  imagine 
things,"  Sabina  said.  "  Now,  I  want  you  to  talk  about  some- 
tliing  practical.  You  remember  taking  me  into  a  place  in  Oxford 
Street — an  art-furniture  place — " 

"  Maragliano's  ?" 

"Yes.  You  remember  the  hand-painted  china  we  saw — the 
dessert-service,  and  so  on — now,  do  they  pay  well  for  that  kind 
of  work? — would  it  be  worth  while  for  any  one  to  try  and  get 
some  of  it  to  do  ?" 

"I  know  Mr.  Hutton,  the  manager;  I  will  ask  him,"  said  Janie, 
never  doubting  that  this  was  but  anotlicr  of  Sabina's  numerous 
schemes  for  benefiting  somebody  or  other. 

"I  suppose  they  have  inferior  sets,"  Sabina  continued,  "whore 
very  high  artistic  skill  would  not  be  necessary.  I  used  to  draw 
and  paint  a  little,  years  ago,  I  could  copy  things  anyway. 
There  were  some  flowers  on  vases  that  I  think  I  could  do." 


196  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  You  ?"  said  Janie,  in  amazement.  "  You  yourself,  Sabic  ? 
"What  do  you  want  to  do  that  kind  of  thins^  for?" 

"  Well,  the  truth  is,"  she  answered,  "  I'm  afraid  that  Fred  and 
I  will  have  to  pinch  a  little.  We  sha'n't  be  very  well  off,  you 
know,  and  I  was  wondering;  if  I  could  help;  I  might  fill  in  a  little 
time  that  way  at  night  if  I  were  clever  enough.  I  wonder  if  it 
is  difficult." 

"Filling  in  time?  —  yes,  you  are  so  idle!  And  you  would 
work  at  night,  too,  when  you  get  home  dead  tired  !  AVhat  next, 
Sabie?"  her  friend  said,  indignantly.  And  then  she  added,  with 
a  sharp  look,  "  Whose  scheme  is  that?" 

"My  own,  of  course.  Will  you  ask  Mr.  Ilutton  if  he  will  let 
me  have  one  or  two  simple  things?  I  don't  expect  much — there 
are  too  many  unemployed  young  women  looking  out  for  work  of 
that  kind — but  even  if  it  was  a  little,  I  should  be  glad." 

"  I  know  this,"  said  Janie,  boldly — and  as  they  were  come  to 
the  gate  of  the  house,  she  paused  there  for  a  moment,  and  re- 
garded Sabina  without  fear — "  I  know  this,  Sabie,  that  I  could 
get  you  one  customer  who  would  buy  all  that  you  could  paint, 
even  if  he  had  to  lock  it  up  in  chests  and  never  see  it  again  ;  yes, 
and  pay  you  like  a  king  for  it,  even  if  he  had  to  sell  house  and 
land  and  pictures  and  everything.  Ah,  you  don't  know  what  he 
said  to  mother — that  time  of  the  supper  in  this  very  house — or 
did  I  tell  you? — about  the  falcon? — and  how  he  envied  the  Flor- 
entine young  gentleman  who  had  the  chance  of  sacrificing  his 
falcon  for  the  sake  of  his  sweetheart  ?" 

"But  what  has  that  to  do  with  me?"  Sabina  said. 

"You  don't  know,  then,  that  that  supper  was  given  all  in  your 
honor,  and  that  everything  he  could  get  in  England  was  got  for 
you ;  and  I  think  he  was  quite  sorry  he  wasn't  poor,  that  he 
might  make  some  real  sacrifice  for  you?  Ah,  well,  Sabie,  I  will 
say  this  for  you — you  made  him  very  happy  that  one  evening." 

"You  are  incorrigible,"  Sabina  said,  good-humoredly.  "  Why, 
yoi.1  may  depend  on  it  that  at  this  very  minute  your  hero  is  mak- 
ing love  to  one  of  those  American  girls — they're  pretty  enough, 
to  judge  by  those  of  them  who  come  over  here." 

Janie  would  not  answer;  she  rang  the  bell,  and  they  were  ad- 
mitted. The  house-keeper  was  very  civil ;  offered  them  tea ;  was 
pleased  to  hear  news  of  Mr.  Lindsay ;  and  reported  the  small  in- 
cidents that  had  happened  since  he  left.     Then  Janie  got  the  key 


WAYS   AND   MEANS.  197 

of  the  studio,  and  she  and  Sabina  passed  through  the  little  gar- 
den, opened  tlie  heavy  door,  and  entered  the  gaunt,  strange-look- 
ing, musty-smelling  place. 

"  lie  was  right — it  wants  a  little  airing  occasionally.  Different 
from  the  night  that  you  were  here,  Sabie,  isn't  it?  See,  there  is 
the  Chippendale  cabinet  in  the  corner;  but  you  won't  find  in  it 
the  rock-crystal  cup  you  drank  out  of — oh  no,  that's  away  in 
safety  with  his  other  valuables.  Maybe  he  has  taken  it  to  Amer- 
ica with  him." 

"Do  you  know,  Janie,"  Sabina  said,  out  of  pure  mischief,  "I 
am  beginning  to  believe  that  you  are  in  love  with  Mr.  Lindsay 
yourself?" 

"Don't  say  that,  Sabie,  even  in  joke.     Besides — " 

She  hesitated.  But  was  not  this  a  rare  opportunity  for  reveal- 
ing a  great  secret  ? 

"  Besides  what  ?" 

Janie's  pale  face  flushed,  and  the  wistful  eyes  were  a  trifle  be- 
seeching. 

"There's  some  one  else!"  Sabina  cried.  "So  that's  it?  Oh, 
Janie,  why  did  you  never  tell  me?  Or  is  it  quite  a  new  affair? 
Well,  then,  who  is  he?" 

"Did  you  never  guess,  Sabie?" 

"  Never,  never  1" 

"Not  when  you  saw  Philip  Drexel  coming  about  the  house?" 

Now,  this  Philip  Drexel  was  a  young  figure-painter,  whose  am- 
bitious style  and  defiant  mannerisms  had  attracted  some  little  no- 
tice, though  Sabina  had  paid  no  great  heed  to  him.  But  now  she 
was  greatly  interested,  and  would  know  all  about  the  engagement, 
though  Janie  protested  there  was  no  such  thing,  but  only  an  un- 
derstanding that  was  not  to  be  made  known  to  anybody  as  yet. 
And  Sabina  had  abundant  praises  for  the  young  painter,  and 
would  make  Janie  promise  to  bring  -him  to  the  rooms  in  the 
Strand,  so  that  she  might  better  get  to  know  hiui,  and  altogether 
was  highly  pleased. 

"  Hut  you  know,  Sabie,"  said  the  honest-minded' Janie,  with  a 
demure  smile,  "  I'm  not  too  proud  about  it.  I  don't  think  his 
approval  of  me  is  too  much  of  a  compliment.  You  know  they've 
asked  him  to  send  in  two  or  three  pictures  to  the  Grosvenor  Gal- 
lery next  year;  and — and  he  came  to  mother  and  asked  her  if  I 
would  give  him  some  sittings  for  one  of  them — '  Mariana  in  the 


198  BABINA   ZEMBRA. 

South '  it  is  to  be — and  be  said  sometbing  about  me  being  quite 
an  ideal  type  for  biin.  Weil,  I  don't  think  it's  too  compliment- 
ary— do  you,  Sabie  ? — for  you  know  be  paints  such  dreadfully 
ugly  women," 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so  at  all,"  Sabina  said,  instantly.  "  Why, 
I've  beard  people  speak  most  highly  of  bis  pictures.  And  of 
course  he'll  make  his  Mariana  ever  so  much  prettier  than  any  of 
the  others." 

"  Sabie,  you  can  say  such  nice  things!"  the  girl  said  ;  and  grat- 
itude was  near  bringing  tears  to  her  eyes,  for  she  knew  that  she 
was  not  very  beautiful. 

Well,  the  promised  visit  had  been  paid  to  both  house  and  stu- 
dio, and  they  went  back  to  Kensington  Square  and  had  tea  with 
the  old  people,  and  in  due  course  Sabina  returned  to  tlie  lodging 
in  tbe  Strand.  Mr.  Foster,  when  he  came  in,  announced  that  he 
would  be  going  down  to  Doncaster  by  an  early  train  the  next 
day.  He  made  further  reference  to  the  project  of  her  seeking 
a  personal  interview  with  her  father ;  though  once  or  twice  he 
threw  out  hints  that  he  hoped  the  trip  to  Doncaster  would  repay 
him — otbervvise  things  might  be  getting  a  little  "tight."  Sabina, 
on  her  part,  made  no  reference  to  her  vague  fancy  that  she  might 
earn  something  by  painting  on  porcelain ;  indeed,  if  the  scheme 
were  practicable  at  all,  she  would  have  preferred  sitting  up  at 
night  to  do  the  work,  when  no  one  knew. 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 

AT    A    MUSIC-HALL. 


However,  as  it  turned  out,  Fred  Foster  returned  from  his  visit 
to  Yorkshire  in  the  most  radiant  good-humor ;  his  Doncaster  spec- 
ulations bad  turned  out  very  well,  indeed,  and  not  only  did  he 
faithfully  pay  back  to  Sabina  every  farthing  that  he  owed  her, 
but  also  he  promised  that  after  settling-day  she  should  have  twen- 
ty-five pounds  to  be  devoted  entirely  to  her  charitable  enterprises. 
Nay  more ;  he  said  that  as  be  did  not  expect  to  be  away  from 
town  again  till  the  Newmarket  Second  October  Meeting,  he  would 
go  with  her  on  her  rounds  and  see  how  she  was  getting  along ; 
and  he  thought  he  would  begin  by  having  a  little  serious  conver- 


AT   A   MUSIC-HALL.  199 

sation  with  a  certain  non-working  man  down  Hammersmith  way 
about  whom  she  had  told  liim,  and  who  was  neglecting  his  wife 
and  family  in  a  shameless  fashion, 

"Or,  don't  you  think  that  a  thundering  good  licking  would 
knock  the  laziness  out  of  him  ?"  he  asked,  cheerfully. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Sabina.  "But  I  am  afraid  it  would  not 
look  well  if  I  had  to  go  to  the  police-court  to  bail  out  my  hus- 
band. What  would  Mr.  Bridge  think  of  mc  ?  And,  you  know, 
he  is  very  good  to  me,  I  can  always  have  an  officer  of  the  court 
with  me  if  I  want  to  make  any  inquiries — " 

"Oh, Tam  going  to  be  your  officer  of  the  court,"  he  said,  gay- 
ly,  "  and  we'll  begin  to-morrow  morning.  In  the  mean  time  we're 
going  to  have  a  little  celebration  of  our  good-luck  this  evening. 
Captain  Raby  has  gone  up  to  the  Bristol  to  order  a  bit  of  dinner 
— just  the  four  of  us,  you  know — Raby,  and  Johnny  Russell,  and 
you,  and  I — " 

"  Please  leave  me  out,  Fred,"  she  said,  at  once. 

"  Why  ?" 

"  01),  well,  I  should  simply  be  in  the  way.  You  don't  want 
a  woman  at  a  man's  dinner-party  of  that  kind.  It  would  look 
ridiculo.us.  Besides,  you  will  have  your  own  affairs  to  talk  over. 
I  shall  do  very  well  here ;  I  find  no  difficulty  in  passing  the 
time," 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Why,  the  whole  thing  has 
been  got  up  to  please  you.  It  was  Raby's  proposal,  and  I  ex- 
pressly accepted  the  invitation  for  you.  Look  ridiculous? — 
why,  it  will  be  in  a  private  room  ;  we  shall  be  quite  by  ourselves. 
Come,  Sabie,  don't  be  a  kill-joy  just  as  things  are  looking  a  little 
brighter." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  she  said,  good-naturedly.  "  But  I  believe  yoii 
would  have  a  merrier  party  without  me." 

"Don't  you  think  anything  of  the  kind,"  he  said.  "You're 
not  one  of  the  straight-laced  ones.  And  if  you  knew  how  glad  I 
shall  be  to  have  a  bit  of  decent  dinner — to  take  the  Doncaster 
taste  out  of  my  mouth.  Perhaps  you  yourself  wouldn't  like  to 
live  on  ham  sandwiches,  and  pork  pies,  and  butter-scotch  ?" 

Sabina  did  not  answer  this  question,  for  she  had  to  go  and 
smarten  herself  up  somewhat.  Very  much  rather  would  she  have 
stayed  at  home ;  but  she  was  pleased  to  see  her  husband  in  such 
high  spirits;  and  she  certainly  had  no  wish  to  play  the  part  of 


200  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

kill-joy.  Indeed,  she  made  herself  as  neat  as  possible ;  slie  would 
do  liini  credit. 

Nor  did  Sabina's  presence  seera  to  act  as  any  damper  at  the 
modest  little  festivities  that  took  place  at  the  Bristol  Hotel.  All 
three  of  her  companions  appeared  to  be  highly  pleased  with  the 
result  of  their  Yorkshire  trip ;  even  the  vacant-eyed  Johnny  Rus- 
sell— whose  flabby  and  clean-shaven  face  was  a  little  more  flushed 
than  usual — ceased  to  be  voiceless,  and  was  nebulously  anxious  to 
interest  Sabina  in  one  or  two  topics  not  connected  with  the  turf. 
It  was  Captain  Raby  who  kept  the  coolest  head ;  but  to  make  up 
for  that  he  seemed  bent  on  encouraging  Fred  Foster's"  outbursts 
of  gayety  ;  and  of  course,  as  host,  it  was  his  duty  to  pass  the 
wine. 

"  You  don't  know,  Mrs.  Foster,"  said  he,  with  that  familiar  stare 
that  invariably  caused  Sabina  to  lower  her  eyes — "  you  don't  know 
what  your  husband  did  for  us  down  there  in  the  north.  lie  was 
quite  a  blessing  to  us.  After  this  week  he  ought  to  be  called  The 
Infallible." 

"  Why,  that  is  the  name  of  my  paper !"  Fred  Foster  cried  at 
once.  "  Didn't  you  know  I  was  going  to  publish  a  racing  news- 
paper ?  Just  you  wait,  and  you'll  see.  And  of  course  I'm  going 
to  run  the  business  of  sporting  prophet  as  well.  Here,  Johnny, 
lend  me  your  pencil,  and  we'll  get  out  the  manifesto:  we're  all  in 
it,  you  know,  for  I  never  desert  my  friends." 

The  apathetic  young  man  detached  a  massive  gold  pencil  from 
Lis  watch-guard  and  handed  it  over ;  and  for  some  little  time  Mr. 
Foster  was  engaged  in  the  throes  of  literary  composition,  while 
Captain  Raby  considerately  endeavored  to  amuse  Sabina.  At  last 
the  back  of  the  menu  was  pretty  well  filled,  and  then  Mr.  Foster 
read  out  his  address  to  the  public : 

Ml'.  Fred  Foster,  2^roprietor  of  "  The  Infallible^''  and  Sporting 
Telegraphist. 

Mr.  Foster  may  now  confidently  appeal  to  the  racing  public  for 
their  continued  support,  as  his  marvellous  and  repeated  success 
beats  all  previous  records  (see  my  last  year's  Czarevitch  week, 
and  the  brilliant  feat  of  placing  the  first,  second,  and  third  for  the 
Two  Thousand,  Derby,  and  St.  Leger).  A  special  number  of  2'he 
Infallible,  devoted  to  the  Middle  Park  Plate,  is  now  ready,  and 


AT   A    MUSIC-HALL.  201 

for  the  nominal  sum  of  five  shillings  will  be  supplied  to  all  appli- 
cants, along  with  subsequent  issues  to  end  of  season. 

Finals. — Newmarket  Finals. 

Mr.  Fred  Foster  having  just  returned  from  a  professional  visit 
to  the  cliief  training  centres  is  prepared  to  give  sound  and  relia- 
ble advice  on  all  the  great  races  yet  to  be  run,  but  would  especial- 
ly advise  his  patrons  to  secure  his  final  telegrams  for  the  New- 
market Meeting,  at  the  trifling  outlay  of  one  sovereign  for  the 
week,  Mr.  Fred  Foster  is  above  the  vulgar  arts  of  the  ordinary 
prophet,  scorns  to  advertise  himself  by  newspaper  puffing,  and 
obtains  his  information  without  chicanery.  Address,  Mr.  Fred 
Foster,  No.  —  Strand,  W.  C. 

"There,  now  ;  how's  that?"  he  asked,  regarding  the  paper  with 
some  pride. 

"I  think  'God  save  the  Queen'  should  come  in  at  the  end," 
observed  Mr.  Russell. 

"  Let's  have  a  drink  over  it,  anyway.  Pass  the  champagne, 
Raby.  And  here's  the  health  of  Squire  Tipton — may  his  shadow 
never  grow  less !" 

They  had  lit  their  cigars  by  this  time  (with  many  apologies  to 
Mrs.  Foster),  and  then  coffee  came  in,  and  liqueurs;  and  there  was 
a  period  of  comparative  repose — Fred  Foster  sipping  maraschino, 
and  occasionally  hazarding  a  remark  to  Johnny  Russell  about  the 
probable  starters  at  Lichfield  and  Manchester;  Mr.  Russell  listen- 
ing in  a  vacuous  silence,  and  also  sipping  maraschino ;  Captain 
Raby  entirely  devoting  his  conversation  to  Sabina,  if  that  can  be 
called  conversation  which  was  chiefly  a  series  of  stories,  more  or 
less  discreditable,  about  very  distinguished  people.  Mr.  Fred  Fos- 
ter began  to  find  this  slow. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  we  can't  talk  horses  all  the  evening." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Captain  Raby,  instantly. 

"  I  propose  we  go  and  get  a  private  box  at  the "  said  he, 

naming  a  well-known  music-hall.  "  We  can  smoke  just  as  well 
there;  and  there's  always  something  going  on.  There  are  those 
children  on  the  bicycles — very  pretty  that  is.  And  Kate  Trcmayne 
— well,  it's  rather  early  for  her  yet,  but  she'll  be  on  by-and-by,  and 
she's  always  fun.  What  do  vou  say  ?" 
9* 


202  SABINA   ZEJIBEA. 

He  addressed  Captain  Raby ;  that  gentleman  was  regarding 
Sabina  with  a  look  in  which  there  was  a  little  afiected  surprise 
and  amusement. 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  for  me  to  decide,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  It  is  for 
Mrs.  Foster  to  say  whether  she  would  like  to  go." 

It  was  a  kind  of  a  challenge.  A  hundred  times  would  she  rather 
have  gone  back  home,  and  busied  herself  with  her  own  affairs; 
but  that  half-scornful  look  of  Captain  Raby's  had  annoyed  her, 
and  she  said  at  once, 

"  Of  course  I  will  go,  Fred,  if  you  want  me  to  go  with  you. 
But  wouldn't  you  rather  go  by  yourselves?" 

"Oh  no,  no,"  the  phlegmatic  young  man  said,  with  unusual 
warmth. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  can't  get  a  domino  and  mask  for  you,  Mrs.  Fos- 
ter," said  Captain  Raby,  smiling  in  his  saturnine  fashion.  "And 
yet  they  would  be  useful  if  they  were  allowed.  I  don't  think  you 
would  care  to  be  seen  at  the " 

Taking  no  heed  of  him,  she  calmly  awaited  her  husband's 
decision ;  and  he  said  forthwith,  and  rather  impatiently, 

"Of  course  you  won't  be  seen  at  all !  We'll  put  yoir  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  box — there's  a  curtain — of  course  you  won't  be  seen. 
And  don't  you  believe  all  that's  said  against  music-halls  by  peo- 
ple who  have  never  been  near  them.  There's  sometimes  very  good 
music.  And  anyway  it  passes  an  hour — and — and  you  can  smoke 
— and — and  Kate  Tremayne — well,  if  she  isn't  funny  enough  for 
anything — " 

"  We  shall  have  Mrs.  Foster's  opinion  of  Miss  Tremayne  by- 
and-by,"  observed  Captain  Raby;  and  the  tone  in  which  he  spoke 
more  than  ever  determined  Sabina  that  she  would  make  the  best 
of  everything  she  saw  or  heard  in  tliat  music-hall,  Miss  Tremayne 
included. 

And  yet  it  was  a  hard  task;  for  anything  more  contemptible 
— anything  more  insulting  to  the  commonest  intelligence — than 
the  amusement  provided  in  this  place  of  entertainment  it  would  be 
impossible  to  imagine.  The  mean  knowingness,  the  swagger,  the 
vulgar  braggadocio  with  which  the  performers  appealed  to  their 
audience,  were  a  sorry  thing  to  see  and  hear;  and  indeed  Sabina, 
safely  ensconced  in  the  corner  there,  and  looking  abroad  over  that 
mass  of  young  men  and  lads,  and  young  women  too,  all  drinking 
in  this  wretched  stuff,  was  moved  far  more  to  pity  than  to  any 


AT    A   MUSIC-HALL.  203 

sort  of  disdain.  Wlien  the  person  on  the  stage  —  n  big,  over- 
weighted, crapulous-looking  creature  he  was,  with  a  head  like  an 
unboiled  haggis,  in-knees,  and  an  enormous  paunch  —  sang  his 
famous  song  of  "  Englishmen  —  one  to  ten,"  those  white-faced, 
narrow-chested,  gin-bemused  boys  took  up  the  chorus  with  him  : 

"We  fouglit  before  ;  we'll  fight  again  ; 
We'll  sweep  the  land ;  we'll  sweep  the  main ; 
We're  Englislimen, 
And,  one  to  ten. 
We'll  stand  and  bid  the  world  come  on." 

"  Poor  wretches!"  Sabina  said,  half  to  herself,  "  there's  not  much 
fighting  stuff  in  them." 

However,  there  was  little  that  was  really  offensive  in  this  bla- 
tant pseudo  -  patriotism  ;  it  was  during  subsequent  performances 
that  Sabina's  face  fell,  and  she  began  bitterly  to  regret  liaving, 
from  a  passing  wish  to  defend  her  husband,  ever  come  to  such  a 
place  at  all.  Moreover,  he  had  left  her  now.  Just  as  Miss  Rosa 
Lee  had  finished  her  favorite  song  of  "  Tandem  Tommy  "  (Miss 
Lee  appeared  in  a  Newmarket  coal  of  yellow  satin,  with  enormous 
brass  buttons,  a  jockey's  cap  on  her  head,  and  a  coaching-whip  in 
her  hand ;  and  her,  also,  the  audience  aided  with  the  well-known 
refrain, 

"And  the  chorus-girl  she  kisses  me 
As  we  spin  along  the  road"), 

and  was  retiring  from  the  stage  amid  loud  applause,  tliere  was  a 
tapping  at  the  door  of  the  box.  The  next  moment  there  ap- 
peared a  gentleman  in  evening  dress,  with  a  large  diamond  in  liis 
shirt-front  and  a  very  shiny  hat.  It  was  clear  that  he  had  not 
expected  to  find  a  lady  in  the  box,  for  the  moment  he  caught 
sight  of  Sabina  he  said,  "  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  and  was  about 
to  retire. 

"Come  along,  Morgan,"  Fred  Foster  said  at  once.  "  Let  me 
introduce  you  to  my  wife — Mr.  Morganti." 

Mr.  Morganti  gracefully  removed  his  shiny  hat,  showing  tlie 
diamonds  on  his  fingers  the  while;  but  he  seemed  a  little  bit  dis- 
concerted, and  still  inclined  to  withdraw. 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  me,  old  man  ?"  Fred  Foster  asked,  getting 
up  from  his  seat. 

*'  If  you  can  spare  me  a  couple  of  minutes." 


204  SABINA   ZEMBKA. 

When  they  had  gone  away  together,  Captain  Raby  said  to 
Sabina,  with  his  peculiar  smile, 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  know  who  that  was  who  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  introduced  to  you  just  now  ?  That  is  Mr.  Morganti, 
the  manager  of  this  establishment.  Mr.  Morganti  is  a  very  im- 
portant person,  and  his  acquaintance  is  esteemed  a  high  honor  by 
many  people.  I  am  told  that  the  young  ladies  who  are  engaged 
to  perform  here  become  very  affable  when  you  are  introduced  to 
them  by  Mr.  Morganti,  and  that  they  will  condescend  to  drink  a 
little  champagne,  and  even  bring  their  husbands  to  join  in,  that 
is,  when  they've  got  one ;  and  you  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to 
drive  the  whole  family-party  out  to  Richmond  of  a  Sunday. 
They  will  entertain  you  certainly,  if  their  vvLt  lacks  a  little  refine- 
uient." 

"  I  dare  say  there  are  as  honest  and  well-intentioned  people 
among  them  as  among  any  other  class,"  Sabina  said,  coldly. 

"Intentions?  Oh  yes.  Their  intentions  are  all  right,  I  sup- 
pose. Their  manners  are  a  little — w^ell,  affable.  I  should  not 
wonder  if  at  this  very  moment  Miss  Rosa  Lee  was  begging  your 
husband  to  give  her  a  good  thing  for  the  Czarevitch.  They're 
very  fond  of  racing,  the  people  about  music-halls.  Miss  Kate 
Trcmayne,  who  is  about  due  now,  was  married  to  Jim  Older,  the 
jockey.  Was  married ;  Jim  got  out  of  that  engagement,  luck- 
ily, and  Miss  Tremayne  is  free  to  let  her  fancies  roam.  I  am 
informed  she  is  a  very  lively  young  person." 

Sabina's  heart  was  hot  within  her  with  vexation,  but  she  was 
too  proud  to  show  her  anger.  And  how  could  she  forbid  him 
to  talk  to  her?  And  what  escape  was  there  for  her?  Her  hus- 
band was  away.  The  phlegmatic  Russell  was  wholly  engrossed 
with  the  stage,  staring  vacuously  at  the  successive  performers,  to 
the  neglect  of  his  brandy-and-soda.  Moreover,  had  she  not  her- 
self to  blame  ?  Had  she  not  come  of  her  own  accord  into  this 
polluted  atmosphere? 

However,  she  obtained  a  temporary  respite ;  for  now  Miss 
Tremayne  appeared ;  and  Miss  Tremayne  was  so  popular  a  fa- 
vorite that  even  Captain  Raby  condescended  to  bestow  a  little 
attention  on  her.  She  was  attired  in  all  kinds  of  cheap  finery; 
her  name  was  Bank  Holiday  Ann  ;  she  was  supposed  to  be  a 
maid -servant  set  free  for  a  jollification  on  Hampstead  Heath; 
and  she   proceeded — in  a  voice  about  as  musical  as  the  sharp 


AT    A   MUSIC-HALL.  205 

ening  of  a  saw — to  describe  the  adventures  of  herself  and  her 
companions,  there  and  elsewhere.  As  these  included  the  getting 
drunk  of  the  whole  party,  their  being  locked  up  for  the  night, 
and  their  appearance  before  a  magistrate  the  next  morning,  there 
was  no  lack  of  incident;  while  the  long-spoken  passages,  delivered 
in  a  rapid  jargon  of  Cockney  accent  and  Cockney  slang,  seemed 
to  find  much  favor  with  the  audience,  who  also  heartily  joined  in 

the  chorus — 

"  Bank  Holiday  Annie, 
Bank  Holiday  Ann, 
Up  the  Heath, 
And  down  the  Heath, 
And  round  the  Heath  she  ran. 
When  the  p'leeceman  copt  her, 
She  got  him  one  on  tlie  eye; 
Oh,  Annie,  Dl  tell  your  mother, 
Oh  fie,  Annie,  fie  !" 

But  the  idiocy  of  this  performance  was  refinement  itself  compared 
with  the  "humor"  of  the  leering  cad  who  followed,  whose  vile 
innuendoes  were  so-  obvious  that  even  Captain  Raby  had  to  talk 
rapidly  to  Sabina  about  all  kinds  of  things  to  distract -her  notice. 
Probably,  if  Sabina  had  understood,  she  would  have  been  a  little 
bit  thankful ;  but  his  attentions  to  her  seemed  now  to  have  reached 
the  height  of  persecution  ;  and  as  the  atmosphere  and  surround- 
ings and  associations  of  the  place  were  grown  quite  insufferable, 
she  could  only  impatiently  ask  herself  when  her  husband  was 
coming  to  take  her  away.     At  last  she  said, 

"  Captain  Kaby,  I  wish  to  go.  Do  you  think  you  could  find 
my  husband?'' 

"  Well,"  said  he,  blandly,  "  I  am  not  an  habitue  here;  I  under- 
stand tliat  Mr.  Morganti  has  a  private  room  somewhere,  where  he 
keeps  excellent  cigars  and  spirits;  but  I  have  not  the  honor  of 
the  entree  into  it.  No  doubt  your  husband  is  atn using  himself 
well  enough.  Don't  you  think  you  had  better  stay  ?  It  ought 
to  interest  you  especially  to  study  the  kind  of  amusements  that 
are  popular  with  the  masses  of  the  people.  Can't  I  get  you  some- 
thing— some  coffee  ?" 

Sabina  was  rather  paler  about  the  lips  than  usual. 

"  Mr.  Russell !"  she  said. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  V  the  younger  man  said,  turning  round  at 
once. 


206  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

Then  she  drew  back ;  slie  had  no  wish  to  be  left  alone  witli 
Captain  Raby,  and  he,  noticing  her  hesitation,  instantly  rose. 

"  Oh,  if  you  really  wish  to  have  your  husband  found,  I  will  do 
my  best,"  he  said ;  and  he  put  on  his  crush-hat  and  left  the  box. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  with  Fred  Foster,  who  was  in  a 
gay  mood. 

"Well,  what  have  you  all  been  doing?  You're  not  going  yet, 
Sabie?  Fve  been  transacting  a  little  business  with  my  noble 
friend,  Morgy — " 

"Was  Miss  Tremayne  a  party  to  the  transaction?"  asked  Cap- 
tain Raby,  with  a  glance  at  Sabina. 

"  Kate  Tremayne  is  a  rattling  clever  girl — that's  what  I  call  her. 
All  London  has  got  hold  of  that  chorus.  She'll  make  a  pot  of 
money  in  the  provinces.     Do  you  really  want  to  go,  Sabie  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  we'll  all  go,"  said  Johnny  Russell,  rising.  "  I've  had 
enough  for  one." 

At  the  front  door,  when  the  cab  was  called  up,  she  was  for  part- 
ing with  these  two  acquaintances  with  a  polite  bow  ;  but  both  of 
them  insisted  on  shaking  hands  with  her,  which  ceremony  she 
performed  with  a  marked  coldness.  As  soon  as  they  were  in  the 
hansom,  and  were  driving  away,  Fred  Foster  said  to  her, 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  now  ?" 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence." 

"  Come,  out  with  it !  I  saw  you  had  got  on  your  high-tragedy 
air.     I  guessed  as  much  from  what  Raby  said." 

"You  have  no  right  to  ask  me  to  meet  a  man  like  that,"  Sabina 
was  stung  into  saying.  "  His  conduct,  his  manner,  is  insufferable. 
And  as  for  that  place  where  we  have  been,  why  did  you  allow  me 
to  go  there?     You  knew  what  it  was — I  did  not." 

"  You  said  you  wanted  to  go." 

"I  said  I  would  go  if  you  wished  me  to  go ;  I  wanted  to  show 
them  that  what  was  right  for  you  was  right  for  me  ;  do  you  think 
I  would  stand  by  and  have  Captain  Raby  openly  sneering  at  you? 
But  you  needn't  have  taken  me  to  such  a  place,  for  all  that." 

"Oh,  you're  one  of  the  impossible  ones,"  said  he,  but  with  per- 
fect good-humor.  "I  know  what  has  set  your  back  up — the  ap- 
pearance in  that  box  opposite  of  the  gorgeous  creature  in  green 
velvet  and  diamonds.  Well,  her  get-up  was  striking,  I  admit ;  and 
so  was  her  yellow  hair,  and  her  fan;  but  you  know  you  can't 


DIVERGENT    WAYS.  207 

compel  everybody  to  tone  down  their  appearance.  Besides,  I 
made  certain  you  couldn't  see  the  woman  at  all." 

"I  did  not  see  any  such  person,"  Subina  said,  with  absolute 
truth. 

"Then  what's  the  matter?  There  was  some  very  good  singing. 
That  sketch  of  Kate  Tremayne's  was  awfully  clever — as  like  the 
thing  as  could  be ;  it  was  too  like  for  me,  indeed ;  I  couldn't  fol- 
low half  what  she  said.  Low  comedy,  of  course,  but  still  comedy  ; 
and  a  precious  deal  nearer  real  life  than  the  comedy  of  the  regular 
stage.     I  didn't  see  anything  to  object  to  in  the  performance." 

"Perhaps  you  were  otherwise  occupied,"  she  said.  "You  did 
not  consider  how  pleasant  it  was  for  me  to  sit  in  that  box  and 
have  Captain  Raby  suggesting  that  you  were  at  the  time  making 
bets  with  the  women  behind  the  stage." 

"  Raby  will  have  his  joke,"  he  answered,  cheerfully.  "  He  was 
simply  roaring  when  he  came  and  told  me  of  the  expression  that 
had  come  over  your  face.  And  what  there  was  to  offend  you  I 
am  sure  I  can't  imagine." 

Indeed,  he  was  bent  on  laughing  off  the  whole  affair  ;  and  when 
they  had  got  home,  and  when  he  had  donned  his  dressing-gown 
and  slippers,  and  lit  a  cigar,  and  mixed  some  whiskey  and  water, 
and  drawn  his  chair  in  towards  the  fire,  he  proceeded  to  remon- 
strate with  her,  but  in  a  perfectly  friendly  and  pleasant  way,  about 
her  cultivation  of  impossible  ideals  and  standards  of  conduct. 

"  The  trouble  with  you,  Sabie,  is  simply  this,"  he  observed, 
"  that  you  are  a  great  deal  too  good  for  this  wretched  and  sinful 
world." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
DIVERGENT  WAYS. 


But  next  morning  found  him  in  a  very  different  mood.  lie 
was  silent  and  surly  at  first ;  then  he  began  to  remonstrate  with 
her  for  her  priggishncss,  as  he  chose  to  call  it;  finally  ho  adopted 
a  distinctly  injured  tone. 

"Of  course,  a  man  doesn't  like  to  be  laughed  at.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if,  the  next  time  I  see  these  two,  it  was  to  be  '  Holloa, 
Foster,  how's  Saint  Cecilia?  Come  down  from  the  clouds  again  ? 
You  shouldn't  take  that  kind  of  a  person  to  a  music-hall.'     Well, 


208  SABINA    ZEMBEA. 

I'm  not  any  fonder  of  rausic-halls  than  other  people ;  but  I  didn't 
see  anvtliing  to' offend  3'ou  so  miiihtily;  and  as  for  Raby  and 
Russell — what  did  you  expect?  You  expect  too  much,  that's 
where  the  trouble  is.  You  want  people  to  live  up  to  ideal  stand- 
ards that  are  quite  impossible.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  little  more  sen- 
sible to  take  the  world  as  it  is?  And  it's  all  the  more  extraordi- 
nary in  your  case ;  for  you  haven't  been  brought  up  in  a  glass- 
house or  a  nunnery;  you've  seen  plenty  of  life — " 

"  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  poverty,  if  that  is  what  you  mean," 
Sabina  said,  calmly.     "  But  poverty  is  not  contemptible." 

"  What  is  contemptible,  then  ?  Whatever  doesn't  come  up  to 
your  perfectly  impossible  standards?  W^ell,  I  prefer  to  take  the 
world  as  it  is.  I  never  professed  to  live  in  a  select  circle  of  arch- 
angels ;  I  never  met  any  ;  ordinary  men  and  women  are  good 
enough  for  me." 

She  did  not  answer  him ;  perhaps  she  had  done  him  an  injury 
in  the  sight  of  his  friends;  perhaps  he  had  cause  to  complain  ;  and 
perhaps,  too,  that  was  the  reason  he  made  no  further  reference  to 
bis  proposal  that  he  should  accompany  her  down  to  Hammer- 
smith ;  on  the  contrary,  when  he  had  lit  his  after-breakfast  cigar, 
and  got  his  coat  and  hat  and  cane,  he  merely  said  that  he  would 
be  back  as  usual  in  the  evening,  and  so  he  went  his  way. 

Sabina  was  a  little  downhearted  that  day,  Janie  Wygrara 
thought ;  and  as  they  were  walking  along  she  confessed  that 
sometimes  she  grew  dispirited,  and  began  to  doubt  the  efficacy  of 
the  net-work  of  charitable  associations  that  were  trying  to  do 
something  to  lighten  the  misery  of  the  great  city.  Perhaps  it 
was  true  that  the  weakest  must  go  to  the  wall ;  that  the  vast  so- 
cial forces  must  work  out  their  own  salvation;  and  that  all  at- 
tempts to  interfere  with  them  were  useless,  or  useful  only  in 
handing  on  a  legacy  of  incompetence  to  the  next  generation.  Of 
course,  she  did  not  say  so  in  these  words;  but  that  was  the  drift 
of  what  she  said  ;  and  very  much  astonished  and  grieved  was 
Janie  Wygram  to  find  her  in  any  such  hopeless  mood. 

"  Why,  that's  not  like  you  at  all,  Sabie !"  she  exclaimed. 
"Don't  you  remember  what  you  said  —  that  one  single  act  of 
kindness  done  every  day  in  the  week  made  the  world  just  so  much 
better?  I  don't  tliink  you  see  yourself  half  the  good  you  do; 
but  I  know  what  it  would  be  to  me,  if  I  were  lying  ill,  to  have  you 
come  in  and  talk  to  me  for  a  minute  or  two.     Oh  yes,  I  have 


DIVERGENT   WAYS.  209 

heard  plenty  of  that  kind  of  argument — that  charity  only  perpet- 
uates sickness,  and  creates  paupers  and  so  forth.  But  I  don't  see 
how  trying  to  make  people  well  is  helping  on  sickness ;  and  it 
isn't  making  paupers  to  get  people  into  situations  who  would  oth- 
erwise be  idle  ;  and  as  for  the  social  forces — "  Here  Janie  paused 
for  a  moment,  for  the  subject  was  a  large  one.  "  Well,  I  don't 
know  much  about  the  social  forces,  but  I  should  think  if  they  saw 
ragged  brats  taken  out  of  the  gutter  and  washed  and  clothed  and 
educated,  and  turned  into  those  fine  young  fellows  on  board  the 
Chichester  and  the  Arethusa,  well,  then,  the  social  forces  ought  to 
be  very  much  obliged.  Oh,  don't  you  give  in,  Sabic,  whoever 
gives  in.  If  you  only  knew  what  you  are  in  many  and  many  and 
many  a  home !" 

Settling-day  came  and  went,  but  Fred  Foster  forgot  about  the 
twenty -five  pounds  he  had  promised  Sabina,  and  she  did  not 
choose  to  remind  him  ;  she  would  rather  try,  by  practising  the 
most  rigid  economy,  to  get  along  with  what  she  had.  And  at 
this  time,  indeed,  Mr.  Foster  had  need  of  all  available  funds  ;  for 
the  racing  world  was  very  busy  just  then,  as  it  always  is  towards 
the  close  of  the  season ;  and  he  was  away  a  good  deal  in  various 
parts  of  the  country,  lie  went  down  to  the  Manchester  Meeting. 
Then  came  Newmarket,  where  his  usual  good-luck  deserted  him  ; 
both  the  Czarevitch  and  the  Middle  Park  Plate  hit  him  hard.  She 
heard  of  his  having  paid  a  flying  visit  to  Scotland.  He  was  for 
a  few  days  at  the  Duke  of  Exminster's  training  quarters  at  Helm- 
ingsley.  Then  he  returned  to  Newmarket  for  the  Cambridgeshire 
Handicap.  And  always,  amid  tliese  various  and  continued  en- 
gagements, when  he  chose  to  run  up  to  town,  to  those  snug  little 
rooms  in  the  Strand,  Sabina  was  ready  with  the  kindest  welcome 
for  him,  and  was  assiduous  about  his  small  comforts,  and  there 
was  no  look  of  reproach  or  of  appeal  in  the  calm  and  serious  and 
beautiful  face. 

"  Oh,  mother,  what  has  come  over  Sabic  ?"  Janie  Wygram  said 
one  evening  (and  now  there  was  another  admitted  to  these  collo- 
quies; a  young  man  with  a  pale  face,  large,  earnest  eyes,  and  long 
hair;  Philip  Drexel  was  his  name;  and  he  was  no  im[)alient  lis- 
tener; when  either  these  two,  or  any  others  of  the  women  down 
Kensington  way,  were  singing  the  praise  of  Sabina,  as  sometimes 
they  did,  the  young  artist's  voice  was  eager  in  the  chorus ;  and 
he  stood  unrebuked  of  Janie ;  nay,  he  knew  it  was  the  one  sure 


210  6ABINA   ZEMBKA. 

way  to  win  her  favor).  "  She  has  been  quite  different  of  late," 
Janie  continued.  "  No  one  sees  it  as  I  do  ;  for  no  one  is  so  much 
with  her.  She  never  laughs  now — never,  never;  and  she  is  never 
impatient  and  masterful  with  the  people,  or  scolding,  as  she  used 
to  be ;  but  always  so  gentle  with  them  ;  and  so  grave  and  com- 
passionate ;  and  her  face — well — well,  her  face,  I  think,  is  more 
beautiful  than  ever ;  but  there  is  a  kind  of  sadness  and  loneliness 
in  it  that  I  can't  understand ;  and  sometimes  she  will  walk  ever 
so  far  with  you  without  a  single  word,  though  the  moment  you 
speak  she  is  as  patient  and  kind  as  ever,  I  don't  think  he  actually 
ill-treats  her — " 

Here  Janie's  mild  eyes  flashed,  and  her  lips  were  rather  pale. 

"No,  if  I  thought  that,  I  would  get  Philip  to  go  and  smash 
him,  or  I  would — I  would  ask  Walter  Lindsay  to  come  across  the 
Atlantic  and  kill  him.  I  don't  think  it's  that ;  but  she  is  very 
much  alone ;  and  perhaps  her  marriage  hasn't  turned  out  what 
she  thought  it  would — though  she  won't  allow  a  single  word  to 
be  said.  Why,  she  is  not  the  least  like  the  Sabie  Zembra  we 
used  to  know  1  Don't  you  remember  her — so  merry  and  proud 
and  courageous,  and  just  bewildering  people  with  her  pretty  face 
and  her  good-humor.  That  was  when  Walter  Lindsay  wanted  to 
paint  her — the  maiden  queen,  you  know,  in  scarlet  and  ermine — 
was  it  from  Chaucer  the  lines  were  ?" 

Janie  should  have  remembered  that  there  was  another  artist 
listening  who  had  also  thought  of  Sabina  as  the  central  figure  of 
certain  half-imagined  compositions.  Even  at  this  moment  was 
there  not  before  his  mind  some  faint  and  wavering  vision  of 

"  The  groves 

Where  the  lady  Mary  is, 
With  her  five  handmaidens,  whose  names 

Are  five  sweet  symphonies, 
Cecily,  Gertrude,  Magdalen, 

Margaret  and  Rosalys. 
Circlewise  sit  they,  with  bound  locks, 

And  forehead  garlanded ; 
Into  the  fine  cloth  white  like  flame 

Weaving  the  golden  thread. 
To  fashion  the  birth-robes  for  them 

Who  are  just  born,  being  dead." 

"And  there's  another  strange  thing,"  continued  Janie,  who 
was   never   tired   of  talking   about   her  best-beloved,  "  she  has 


DIVERGENT   WATS.  .     211 

nothing  like  the  nerve  she  used  to  have.  You  know  Sabie  was 
never  very  sentimental ;  I  used  to  think  her  a  little  too  robust  in 
that  direction.  But  now  a  very  trifling  thing  will  bring  tears  to 
her  eyes,  though  she  is  desperately  anxious  to  hide  it.  The  other 
day  we  were  going  through  Stanhope  Gardens.  There  was  a 
window  open,  and  some  children  were  singing,  with  the  mother 
leading  on  a  harmonium ;  and  I  stopped  Sabie  for  a  minute. 
Well,  it  was  'Abide  with  me,  fast  falls  the  even-tide ;'  and,  do  you 
know,  the  singing  of  the  children  quite  upset  her,  and  she  went 
on  quickly  so  that  I  should  not  see.  You  know,  mother,  that's 
not  like  Sabie ;  she  never  was  sentimental ;  I  believe  it  is  loneli- 
ness that  is  breaking  her  heart.  There's  that  little  boy  Watson, 
that  was  run  over ;  he  came  back  the  other  day  from  Brighton — 
she  had  sent  him  to  the  Convalescent  Home  for  a  fortnight — and 
she  went  down  to  sec  how  he  was.  Well,  it  was  a  little  bit  affect- 
ing to  see  how  bewildered  he  had  been  by  the  sight  of  the  sea, 
for  he  has  never  been  out  of  London  in  his  life;  but  Sabie  is 
used  to  such  things;  and  I've  seen  her  pretty  sharp  sometimes 
with  women  for  crying  aimlessly ;  but  this  time  when  she  said  to 
the  poor  little  fellow, '  Well,  Johnny,  tell  me  what  you  thought  of 
the  sea  when  you  first  saw  it ;'  and  when  he  said,  looking  up  at 
her, '  Please,  miss,  I  thought  it  was  like  'evin,'  she  stopped  for  a 
minute  uncertain---of  course,  not  wanting  to  break  down — and 
then  she  had  to  turn  away,  and  I  saw  her  dry  her  eyes.  Mother, 
it  is  not  the  least  like  Sabie  to  be  in  a  nervous  state  like  that,  is 
it? — she  who  was  always  so  full  of  courage,  and  bright  humor, 
and  briskness.  Of  course,  there  is  one  thing;  you  know  she  had 
sent  him  down  for  a  fortnight;  and  it's  five  shillings  a  week  at 
the  Black  Rock  House ;  and  I  know  she  was  debating  whether 
she  should  not  let  him  have  another  fortnight;  and  then  she 
thought  she  could  not  afford  the  other  ten  shillings.  And  per- 
haps when  she  saw  what  a  treat  it  had  been  to  the  poor  little  fel- 
low, she  was  sorry  she  had  not  given  him  the  other  fortnight — 
getting  the  money  somewhat." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  AVygram,  bitterly,  "and  her  father  rolling  in 
wealth,  and  her  husband  drinking  champagne  with  his  dinner 
every  night  in  the  week,  and  that  poor  creature  saving  every 
penny  to  do  good  to  others.  It's  little  the  world  knows  how 
selfish  the  people  may  be  that  arc  drinking  wine  and  flaunting 
about  in  carriages — " 


212  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"  I'm  sure  they  might  flaunt  about  in  carriages,  or  drink  all  the 
wine  in  the  world,  if  only  they'd  make  Sabie  a  little  happier," 
Janie  said,  wistfully.  "  I  think  she  grows  more  like  an  angel 
every  day,  in  her  goodness  and  gentleness;  but  do  you  imagine  I 
like  it?    No,  I  don't.    I  would  rather  have  her  bad  and  wicked — " 

"  Janie !"  the  mother  remonstrated ;  but  she  added,  with  a 
smile,  "  Well,  it's  no  use  talking  like  that  about  Sabina,  for  it 
can't  mean  anything  at  all." 

"  Very  well,  then,  mother,  I  will  say  this  only — that  I  wish  she 
was  a  little  more  like  the  Sabie  Zenibra  we  used  to  know.  Some- 
times, when  I  look  at  her  now,  my  heart  is  pretty  heavy  about 
her.  And  I  am  not  as  near  to  her  as  I  used  to  be ;  she  seems  to 
live  within  herself,  somehow;  and  there's  never  a  word  said;  her 
husband's  name  is  hardly  ever  mentioned — when  it  is,  Sabie  is  al- 
ways on  his  side,  and  has  excuses  for  his  being  away,  and  all  that. 
But  she  is  not  like  our  Sabie  that  we  used  to  know." 

Now,  if  Sabina  was  ever  ready  with  excuses  for  her  husband's 
absence,  that  was  a  good  deal  more  than  Fred  Foster  cared  to  be. 
He  took  it  as  quite  natural,  in  their  straitened  circumstances,  that 
he  should  try  to  pick  up  a  few  sovereigns  in  the  only  way  known 
to  him  ;  and  he  plainly  intimated  that  if  she  chose  to  occupy 
roost  of  her  time  in  looking  after  other  people's  affairs,  he,  at 
least,  preferred  to  attend  to  his  own  proper  business.  Once,  in- 
deed, he  offered  to  let  her  accompany  him.  It  was  on  the  eve 
of  the  Brighton  and  Lewes  race  meetings. 

"  What  do  yon  say  to  going  down  for  the  week,  to  have  a  look 
at  the  old  place  ?"  he  said.  "  You  would  find  it  lively  at  this 
time  of  the  year — the  King's  Road  in  November  is  pretty  brisk. 
We  could  put  up  at  the  Bedford — I  like  the  coffee-room — " 

"  Thank  you,  Fred,  but  I  think  I  Avould  rather  not  go,"  she 
answered. 

*'  Why  ?  I  suppose  because  you  don't  want  to  meet  Raby  or 
any  of  those  fellows.  Well,  you  wouldn't.  They'll  be  at  the 
Old  Ship,  if  they  are  at  Brighton  at  all.  Don't  you  think  you 
would  be  safe  enough  at  the  Bedford  ?  There's  a  ladies'  room 
you  might  shut  yourself  up  in,  if  you're  so  tei'ribly  afraid." 

She  took  no  heed  of  the  taunt. 

"  It  isn't  that.     But  I'd  rather  not  go,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  Oh,  you  grudge  the  time,  I  suppose  ?  You  can't  tear  your- 
self away  from  your  beloved  slums  ?" 


DIVERGENT    WAYS.  213 

**  No,  it  isn't  the  time  either,"  she  said,  "  it  is  the  expense.  I 
should  not  feel  very  happy  about  it ;  so  please  don't  ask  me." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  can  stop  at  liome  if  you  like,"  he  said ;  and 
there  was  an  end  of  that  proposal. 

However,  matters  mended  very  much  at  Christmas ;  for  they 
were  to  spend  that  holiday  with  the  old  people,  and  whatever 
•was  best  in  Foster's  nature  and  disposition  invariably  came  to  the 
front  when  his  mother's  influence  was  brought  to  bear  on  him. 
A  few  days  before  Christmas  the  old  lady  came  to  town,  to  do 
some  shopping'  and  take  her  daughter-in-law  back  with  her;  and 
as  soon  as  she  had  installed  herself  in  an  old-fashioned  little  hotel 
near  Charing  Cross  that  is  much  patronized  by  Buckinghamshire 
folk,  she  hurried  along  to  see  Sabina.  She  had  arrived  earlier 
than  was  expected ;  Fred  Foster  was  out ;  she  found  Sabina 
alone. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  she  said,  with  some  concern,  and  she  took 
the  girl's  two  hands,  and  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  and  drew  her 
to  the  window,  "you're  not  looking  at  all  well!  What  is  the 
matter  ?     Have  you  been  ill  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  Sabina  said — and  for  the  moment  her  face  was  all 
lit  up  with  gladness  at  finding  this  kind  friend  near  her  again; 
there  seemed  comfort  in  her  mere  presence. 

"  But  this  will  never  do — we  must  see  whether  the  country  air 
can  bring  back  the  roses  to  your  cheeks,"  said  this  gentle  mother- 
in-law,  and  she  kept  patting  the  girl's  hand.  "  And  every  time 
you  wrote,  you  wrote  from  London — have  you  never  been  away 
from  London  since  we  saw  you  ?" 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  But  you  know  I  am  quite  used  to 
that." 

"  But  you  shouldn't  be  used  to  it,"  Mrs.  Foster  said,  sliarply, 
"  I  suppose  Fred  has  been  flying  about  the  country  just  as  ho  ever 
did?" 

"He  has  been  away  at  times,"  Sabina  answered,  evasivclv. 

"And  how  has  he  been  behaving?"  the  elder  lady  said,  with 
some  little  scrutiny  in  her  eyes.  "  Pretty  much  as  usual,  I  sup- 
pose? Yes;  but  we  thought  he  was  going  to  turn  over  a  new 
leaf  when  he  married.  And  so  glad  I  am  that  you  are  coming 
down  to  us  now;  for  you  will  have  to  be  the  peace-maker — in- 
deed you  will,  my  dear." 

Sabina  looked  up  inquiringly. 


214  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"  That  wretched  boy  has  been  getting  into  trouble  again  with 
his  father,"  the  mother  said,  with  a  rueful  good-nature.  "  Writ- 
ing for  money,  I  suppose ;  and  never  a  word  about  Crookfield,  or 
settling  tlown  anywhere  else.  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  think  it's  most- 
ly on  your  behalf  that  his  father  is  so  angry ;  so  you'll  have  to 
be  the  peace-maker — and  you'll  find  it  easy  enough  with  that 
pretty  face  of  yours." 

The  old  lady  now  made  Sabina  sit  down,  and  took  a  chair  op- 
posite to  her,  and  proceeded  to  open  a  somewhat  capacious  and 
country-looking  purse. 

"  Now,  my  dear,  I  have  brought  you  a  little  Christmas  present ; 
and  I  know  what  is  most  useful  to  a  young  house-keeper,  being  a 
house-keeper  myself." 

She  took  out  a  little  packet  of  bank-notes,  all  neatly  fold- 
ed, and  bound  together  with  a  tiny  elastic  band ;  and  then  she 
counted  them. 

"Yes,  ten  ;  and  as  each  is  a  ten-pound  note,  you  mustn't  leave 
them  lying  about,  my  dear." 

She  put  the  little  packet  into  the  girl's  hand,  and  closed  her 
fingers  over  it. 

"Dear  mother,  it  is  so  very  good  of  you,"  Sabina  said,  and  her 
eyes  were  grateful  enough.  "  If  you  only  knew  how  much  I 
shall  be  able  to  do  with  it — just  at  this  time  too — I  confess  I  was 
a  little  downhearted  about  going  away  into  the  country  and  leav- 
ing so  many  small  things  undone.  And  I  will  be  very,  very  care- 
ful. I  suppose  I  may  take  ten  pounds  for  myself,  if  I  give  the 
rest  to  Fred." 

"What?"  the  elder  woman  cried,  instantly.  "You  foolish 
child,  I  tell  you  that  that  is  for  your  own  private  purse,  every 
farthing  of  it.  To  Fred!  Well,  I  used  to  help  Master  Freddie 
a  little;  but  I'm  done  with  him  now,  until  he  settles  down  and 
conducts  himself  like  a  respectable  married  man.  For  your  own 
private  purse,  my  dear,  every  farthing  of  it !" 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  know,"  Sabina  said,  with  downcast  eyes. 
"I  shall  be  glad  to  give  it  to  him.  I  wish  it  was  in  a  clearer 
sense  my  own,     I  wish  it  came  from  my  family." 

"  Why  ?" 

The  girl  hesitated;  then  she  looked  up  in  a  piteous  way,  as  if 
appealing  to  this  kind  friend  not  to  misunderstand  her. 

"  Don't  think   I   am  saying   anything  against  him,  or  would 


DIVERGENT   WAYS.  215 

mean  to  do  that,"  she  said,  timidly.  "But — but  sometimes  I 
cannot  get  it  out  of  my  head  that  Fred  appears  to  think  I  mar- 
ried him  under  false  pretences.  He  wouldn't  say  it,"  she  added, 
instantly.  "But — but  sometimes  he  seems  to  think  it — and — 
and  of  course — if  he  really  was  quite  certain  that  my  father  would 
do  something  more  for  me  than  he  has  done — well,  the  disap- 
pointment is  only  natural.  Dear  Mrs.  Foster,  I  shall  be  so  glad 
to  give  him  this  money ;  but  don't  you  understand  how  I  could 
■wish  it  to  be  more  clearly  my  very  own  to  give?" 

"  I  understand  more  than  you  think,"  said  Mrs.  Foster,  angrily. 
"Has  Fred  been  worrying  you  about  money?" 

But  Sabina  would  make  no  such  admission  ;  she  evaded  tliat 
question  and  a  good  many  others  that  Mrs.  Foster  put ;  and  in- 
deed the  arrival  of  Fred  Foster  himself  shortly  brought  these  sus- 
picious inquiries  to  a  close. 

For  the  sake  of  variety  they  went  down  to  Missenden  by  the 
familiar  old  omnibus  that  still  starts — or  recently  started — from 
the  Bell  in  Holborn — that  is  to  say,  they  leisurely  drove  away 
down  by  Uxbridge,  and  Chalfont  St.  Giles,  and  Amersham  ;  and 
they  had  not  left  the  great  city  far  behind  when  the  fresh,  sweet- 
smelling  country  air  began  to  be  very  grateful  to  Sabina,  who 
had  been  so  long  pent  up  in  the  town.  Both  the  ladies  were 
outside;  for  this  was  a  very  mild  December,  and  though  there 
had  been  rain  in  the  night,  there  was  now  a  clear,  watery  sun- 
shine flooding  the  wide  landscape,  and  what  wind  there  was 
touched  the  cheek  softly  enough.  And  the  farther  they  went 
away  into  the  open  country  the  more  beautiful,  it  seemed  to  Sa- 
bina, everything  became ;  there  was  a  strange  clearness  abroad, 
and  a  multitude  of  colors  to  delight  the  eye.  The  gray-green  of 
the  commons ;  the  deeper  greens  of  holly  and  ivy ;  the  russet  of 
withered  beech  and  withered  fern;  the  purple  red  of  the  haws; 
the  scarlet  berries  of  the  bryony  ;  the  black  berries  of  the  elder; 
the  white  waxen-like  berries  of  the  mistletoe  high  up  on  some 
gnarled  old  apple-tree — all  these  were  shining  in  this  humid  sun- 
light, that  seemed  to  call  up  vapors  and  pleasant  scents  from  the 
long  swathes  of  ploughed  field  and  fallow.  Of  course,  long  be- 
fore they  reached  Missenden,  night  had  fallen  over  the  land  ;  but 
it  was  not  much  of  a  winter's  night;  Sabina  regretted  that  the 
day's  drive  had  come  to  an  end. 

And  very  speedily  it  appeared  that  there  had  been  some  rather 


216  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

serious  quarrel  between  father  and  son  ;  for  the  old  gentleman 
would  scarce  take  any  notice  of  Mr.  Fred  Foster,  but  devoted  his 
whole  attention  to  Sabina,  making  her  his  constant  confidante 
and  companion.  During  these  next  few  days  Sabina  nestled 
down  into  this  quiet,  domestic  life  with  a  curious,  unwonted  sense 
of  comfort  and  peace.  For  a  long  time  back  she  had  found  her- 
self very  homeless  and  very  lonely ;  and  now  these  good  people 
were  surrounding  her  with  every  possible  little  kindness,  and  she 
was  abundantly  grateful.  Even  Fred  Foster,  in  the  society  of  his 
mother,  showed  himself  in  the  best  of  humors,  and  by  dint  of 
sheer  audacity  succeeded  in  establishing  some  better  relations  be- 
tween the  old  man  and  himself.  Ue  went  out  shooting  most  of 
the  time — picking  up  a  stray  bird  or  a  hare  occasionally ;  while 
Sabina  talked  to  the  old  gentleman  in  the  greenhouses,  or  walked 
arm-in-arm  with  Mrs,  Foster  through  the  dank,  faint -smelling 
garden. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  latter  occasions  that  the  old  lady  again 
broached  the  subject  of  the  young  people  coming  and  settling 
down  in  the  country.  Sabina  paused  for  a  moment  in  their  walk, 
and  regarded  her  friend  with  a  somewhat  wistful  look. 

"  I  almost  think  it  would  be  better,"  she  said.  "  I  used  to  fear 
it  would  be  selfish — to  give  up  everything  when  there  is  so  much 
that  can  be  done  to  help  people  who  are  greatly  in  need  of  help. 
And  I  suppose  it  would  be  selfish.  But  I  find  now  that  I  cannot 
do  as  much  as  I  used  to  do ;  well,  the  mere  want  of  money  inter- 
feres, though  money  isn't  everything  in  that  kind  of  work.  And 
one  feels  the  need  of  a  home — where  one  can  rest  at  times." 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,  yes,  my  dear,"  the  old  lady  said,  with  eager  kind- 
ness. "  I  am  sure  you  are  right.  Of  course,  you  want  a  home. 
And  Crookfield  could  be  made  so  nice  and  comfortable  for  you; 
just  the  prettiest  place  imaginable;  and  far  enough  away,  too,  to 
save  you  from  intrusion — ^you  wouldn't  have  an  ill-natured  old 
mother-in-law  coming  prying  and  poking  her  nose  in  at  every 
minute.  But  you  may  depend  on  this,  my  dear  child,  that  any- 
thing my  husband  or  myself  could  do  to  make  you  perfectly  hap- 
py— well,  it  would  be  done  pretty  quickly,  I  think." 

"  Ah,  you  are  all  too  good  to  me  down  here,"  Sabina  said,  with 
a  bit  of  a  sigh ;  she  was  thinking  of  her  life  in  London. 

But  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Foster  found  a  convenient  opportunity  she 
went  to  her  son. 


DIVERGENT    AVAYS,  217 

"  Fred,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know  that  Sabie  is  quite  willing  to 
live  in  the  country  ?" 

"Oh,  is  she?"  he  responded,  with  some  indifference. 

"  Now  don't  you  think  tbis  would  be  a  great  chance  for  you  to 
give  up  that  idle  life  ?"  she  pleaded.  "  Even  to  get  a  proper 
horae  for  Sabie  would  be  something.  She  is  not  looking  well  at 
all.     She  wants  rest  and  quiet." 

"  Do  you  mean  at  Crookfield  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,  mother. 
She  would  be  sick  and  tired  of  it  in  a  week.  Her  heart  would 
be  back  in  those  slums,  where  she  spends  the  whole  of  her  time 
and  every  farthing  that  she  can  appropriate  with  decency.  As  if 
there  was  such  an  abundance  of  money  flying  about!" 

"But  what  is  this  about  money,  now?"  his  mother  asked. 
"She  says  that  you  are  disappointed.  Did  you  ever  look  forward 
to  living  upon  her  income?" 

"  I  looked  forward  to  our  joining  our  not  immense  fortunes," 
said  he,  with  much  equanimity,  "  so  as  to  share  the  domestic  ex- 
penses.    It's  a  usual  kind  of  thing,  I  believe." 

"And  now  you  are  disappointed  with  her  because  her  father 
•will  not  give  her  as  much  as  you  expected  ?" 

He  did  not  answer  this :  he  was  busy  filling  some  cartridges. 

"  At  all  events,"  his  mother  said,  warmly,  "  you  have  no  right 
to  say  that  she  deceived  you,  or  to  think  it  even — she  is  incapable 
of  any  such  thing — you  should  be  ashamed  to  imagine  such  a 
thing—" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  !" 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  is  a  mere  fancy  on  her  part — I  hope  it  is — I 
hope  for  your  own  sake  it  is — but  I  know  what  she  thinks — she 
thinks  that  you  have  got  to  imagine  that  she  married  you  under 
false  pretences." 

"  Oh,  she  thinks  that,  does  she  ?"  he  said,  carelessly,  and  he 
locked  up  the  cartridge-box  and  put  it  aside.  "  Well,  I  never 
said  so,  anyway." 

And  with  that  he  got  his  cap  and  went  out,  whistling  for  the 
retriever  that  was  lying  asleep  in  the  yard. 
10 


218  SABINA   ZEAIBUA. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

ALTERED    PLANS. 

On  their  return  to  town  Sabina  gave  her  husband  eighty  pounds 
out  of  the  one  hundred  pounds  she  had  received  from  the  old 
lady ;  and  this  came  in  handy ;  for  if  there  was  no  racing  just 
then,  he  was  busy  enough  with  pigeon-shooting  and  billiards,  and 
also  there  was  a  little  speculation  going  on  about  the  Waterloo 
Cup.  But  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  he  was  in  any  wise 
grateful  for  the  gift.  He  knew  very  well  that,  had  Sabina  not 
been  in  the  case,  he  would  have  had  the  whole  of  that  sum  ;  and 
he  knew  that  the  twenty  pounds  would  be  frittered  away  on 
objects  of  which  lie  wholly  and  sulkily  disapproved.  For  he 
had  come  to  grumble  not  a  little  about  her  work  in  the  slums, 
and  her  attendance  upon  charitable  societies.  It  was  a  mere 
waste  of  time  and  money,  he  said.  A  married  woman  ought  to 
devote  herself  to  her  own  home.  On  the  rare  occasions  on  which 
he  had  returned  to  their  rooms  at  mid-day,  he  had  found  her 
almost  invariably  absent;  and  there  was  a  difficulty  about  lunch- 
eon, for  the  landlady  was  unprepared  for  such  contingencies.  To 
be  sure,  Sabina  had  offered  to  be  at  home  every  day  at  one,  if  he 
■wished  it ;  but  this  again  was  absurd ;  for  how  could  he  bind 
himself  by  any  such  hard  and  fast  rule  ?  As  regards  the  money, 
were  they  in  a  position  to  indulge  in  indiscriminate  charity?  More- 
over, her  rigid  economy  (which  he  declared  to  be  perfectly  ridicu- 
lous) was  in  a  kind  of  way  a  standing  reproach  to  him.  It  seemed 
to  ftccuse  him  of  extravagance,  whereas  he  was  merely  living  as 
always  he  had  lived.  It  made  him  look  foolish  in  the  eyes  of 
his  friends,  when  they  passed  Sabina  and  himself  in  a  restaurant, 
that  he  should  be  drinking  wine  and  she  only  water.  AVhy  should 
she  not  drink  wine?  She  would  be  ready  enough  to  prescribe  it 
for  sick  people  down  in  Hammersmith ;  why  shouldn't  she  pre- 
scribe it  for  herself,  seeing  that  she  was  looking  none  too  well  ? 
He  saw  no  virtue  in  self-sacrifice;  it  was  a  pure  delusion;  the 
best  thing  for  everybody  was  for  each  to  do  the  best  for  himself. 


AXTERED   PLANS.  219 

In  the  mean  while  these  representations  took  no  practical  shape; 
for  now  came  the  hurdle-racing  at  Kempton  and  Sandown  and 
Croydon  to  engage  his  attention — with  the  Lincoln  Spring  Meet- 
ing looming  in  the  near  future:  and  he  was  absent  from  town  a 
good  deal ;  and  Sabina  was  left  to  the  freedom  of  her  own  soli- 
tary ways.     But  when  he  came  back  he  said  to  her  one  evening, 

"  Look  here.  I've  been  thinking  things  over,  and  I  don't  see 
that  we  get  value  for  our  money  out  of  these  rooms." 

He  did  not,  at  any  rate. 

"  They  are  expensive ;  and  it's  an  expensive  way  of  living,  as 
you  say — dining  at  restaurants  and  all  that.  When  we  started 
them,  of  course  I  expected  we  should  have  a  wider  margin ;  but 
I  suppose  that  is  all  over  now.  Well,  now,  didn't  I  understand 
from  the  Mater,  when  we  were  down  in  Buckinghamshire,  that 
you  were  willing  to  live  in  the  country?" 

"  It  was  a  kind  of  fancy,"  she  said,  absently. 

"  But  either  you  did  say  you  were  willing,  or  you  didn't,"  he 
retorted,  with  a  touch  of  impatience. 

"Yes,  I  said  I  thought  it  might  be  better,"  she  answered,  with 
a  little  hesitation.  "  They  were  very  kind  to  me  down  there.  I 
liked  the  quiet  life.     If  I  were  only  thinking  of  myself — " 

"  Weil,  then,  I  take  it  you  are  willing  to  live  in  the  country," 
Le  said,  interrupting  her.  "  And  I  think  you  are  quite  right.  It 
will  be  much  healthier,  and  cheaper,  too,  if  it  is  properly  managed. 
I  will  look  out  for  a  convenient  little  place,  not  too  far  from 
town — " 

She  looked  up  in  some  bewilderment. 

"  But  don't  you  mean  Crookfield  ?" 

"  Crookfield"!"  he  said,  with  a  laugh—"  Crookfield  !  I  should 
think  not!  Ten  miles  away  from  the  nearest  rail  way -station  ? 
No,  thank  you  ;  I  don't  want  to  play  Robinson  Crusoe." 

"But  it  was  about  Crookfield  your  mother  was  thinking  when 
she  spoke  of  our  going  to  live  in  the  country,"  Sabina  said — not 
seeing  how  she  had  been  entrapped. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know.  She  said  so.  But  I  don't  propose  to  turn 
farmer;  it's  the  worst  paying  game  there  is  nowadays;  my  father 
will  do  much  better  to  take  whatever  rent  he  can  get  for  the 
place.  I  want  quarters  much  more  convenient  than  that — near  to 
Epsora,  perhaps — Banstead  is  handy — or  Leathorhead — anyway, 
we  must  not  get  beyond  tlie  pale  of  civilization  altogether." 


220  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

And  so  Sabina  had  pledged  lierself — without  too  closely  ask- 
ing herself  why — to  forsake  all  those  pursuits  and  occupations 
that  had  been  the  solace  of  a  somewhat  lonely  life,  to  leave  her 
friends  behind  her,  and  to  go  away  into  the  country,  she  knew 
not  whither.  Of  course,  when  she  announced  this  startling  intel- 
ligence to  Janie  Wygram,  she  had  to  adduce  reasons.  It  was  her 
husband's  wish,  to  begin  with.  They  had  found  their  means  a 
little  straitened ;  they  would  be  able  to  live  more  economically. 

Then  her  husband  had  complained  of  her  spending  so  much  of 
her  time  away  from  home;  perhaps  they  would  be  more  together 
in  the  course  of  a  country  life.  These  and  several  other  reasons 
she  placed  before  Janie ;  she  did  not  add — perhaps  she  would  not 
have  confessed  to  herself — that  she  was  sick  and  sore  at  heart, 
and  that  she  had  welcomed  this  change,  as  she  would  have  wel- 
comed any  change,  in  a  kind  of  despair. 

Now  this  is  what  Janie  Wygram  instantly  said  to  herself : 

"The  contemptible  brute  ! — he  grudges  her  every  farthing  that 
she  pinches  and  saves  out  of  her  own  income ;  and  he  is  carrying 
her  off  to  the  country  so  that  he  may  have  every  penny  to  him- 
self." 

But  this  was  what  Janie  Wygram  (who  was  a  loyal  lass,  and 
had  not  forgotten  Walter  Lindsay's  parting  injunctions)  said  to 
Sabina : 

"  Ah  well,  Sabie,  I  dare  say  he  is  a  little  bit  jealous  of  the  time 
you  give  to  other  people.  It's  only  natural,  isn't  it?  And  then 
he  is  quite  right  about  the  healthier  air;  and  you  haven't  been 
looking  your  best  of  late,  you  know.  Dear  me,  I  wonder  what 
Kensington  will  be  like  without  you.  There  was  always  the 
chance  of  meeting  you  in  the  street  somewhere.  I  never  went 
out  of  the  house  without  thinking, '  Well,  now,  perhaps  Sabie  is 
just  coming  round  the  corner.'  And  there's  many  and  many  a 
home  will  miss  you,  Sabie." 

Sabina  was  standing  at  the  window,  looking  out  on  the  wintry 
trees  and  bushes  of  Kensington  Square,  and  her  back  was  turned 
to  her  friend.  When  Janie  went  to  her,  and  put  her  arm  within 
her  arm,  she  was  greatly  surprised  to  find  that  the  girl's  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears. 

"  Sabie,  you  are  not  glad  about  going  !"  she  exclaimed,  breath- 
lessly.   "  It  vexes  you  ?    You  are  not  happy  about  it  ?" 

Sabina  dried  her  eyes  quickly. 


ALTERED    PLANTS.  221 

*'  Oh,  it  will  be  all  right,"  she  said.  "  I  dare  say  it  will  be  all 
right.  When  there  are  so  many  real  troubles  in  the  world,  it  is 
no  use  bothering  about  sentimental  ones." 

"  But  you  don't  want  to  go  !" 

"  I  suppose  the  whole  of  life  is  more  or  less  of  an  experiment," 
Sabina  said,  "and  you  can't  tell  how  any  part  of  it  may  turn  out. 
I  hope  this  will  be  for  the  better." 

Janie  looked  at  her,  wondering  whether  she  was  going  to  speak 
more  plainly,  and  yet  almost  afraid.  But  the  calm  and  beautiful 
face  was  quite  passive ;  and  the  hazel  eyes — that  used  to  be  so 
clear,  and  shining  with  mirth,  or  filled  with  a  soft  and  benignant 
kindness — were  now  almost  apathetic,  not  to  say  hopeless. 

"  You  will  have  to  be  very  good  to  my  poor  people,  Janie,"  she 
said,  with  an  effort  at  cheerfulness.  "  You  know  their  ways.  And 
you  will  be  more  patient  with  them  than  I  was." 

"  Me  ?"  said  Janie.  "  And  you  think  I  could  ever  take  your 
place?  It's  little  you  know  what  you  have  been  to  them,  Sabie. 
It  isn't  money,  mind  ;  as  far  as  that  goes,  there  would  be  no  great 
difficulty.  For  do  you  know  what  Philip  has  done? — he  is  such 
a  noble  fellow !  You  remember,  I  told  you  that  Walter  Lindsay 
had  written  over  to  say  that  it  would  be  a  great  favor  to  him  if 
we  would  occupy  his  house  after  we  got  married.  And  you  know, 
Sabie,  Philip  is  pretty  well  off;  his  people  are  very  well  off  in- 
deed; and  he  himself  has  been  very  lucky  in  getting  commissions 
— he  is  very  popular  in  Liverpool  and  Birkenhead,  where  they've 
plenty  of  money  to  spend  on  pictures — so  that  when  I  told  him 
of  Mr.  Lindsay's  offer,  he  laughed  at  first,  and  didn't  like  the  no- 
tion of  having  a  house  rent-free.  But  it  happens  that  the  studio 
is  the  very  thing  he  wants ;  and  he  is  so  very  busy  that  he  can't 
bother  about  one  building  for  himself  at  present;  so  he  came  to 
me  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  said  that  as  soon  as  we  were 
married  we  would  settle  down  tliere,  only  that  he  would  prefer 
paying  rent.  And  where  was  the  rent  to  go  to  ?  Walter  Lindsay 
would  not  take  it.  Well,  it  was  to  be  handed  over  to  you  and  me, 
to  help  deserving  people.  Wasn't  that  kind  ?  So,  you  see,  it  isn't 
the  money.  But  when  you  talk  about  my  taking  your  place,  it's 
little  you  know.  It  wasn't  money  so  much  as  courage  you  brought 
them.  They  did  whatever  you  asked  them  to  do.  Will  you  come 
and  bid  them  good-by  before  you  go,  Sabie  ^" 

The  girl's  lips  quivered  for  an  instant. 


222  6ABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  What  would  be  the  use?  That  would 
be  mere  sentiment.     What  is  the  use  of  sentiment  ?" 

"It  would  be  kindness,  Sabie.  And  you  never  refused  them 
that." 

There  was  no  answer.  Sabina  had  got  into  the  habit  of  late 
of  leaving  conversations  unended ;  her  mind  seemed  much  pre- 
occupied. 

On  the  morning  after  Fred  Foster's  return  from  the  Lincoln 
and  Liverpool  Meetings,  he  was  standing  at  the  window  of  their 
sitting-room,  looking  down  into  the  Strand.  It  was  rather  a 
cheerful  sort  of  morning  for  March,  and  there  was  a  spring-like 
feeling  in  the  air.     After  a  while  he  turned  to  Sabina. 

"  I  have  to  run  down  to  Epsom — to  Witstead,  rather,"  said  he, 
"  to  see  some  friends  of  mine  there  about  a  little  bit  of  business. 
Would  you  care  to  go  for  the  day  ?  I  dare  say  they  would  give 
us  some  lunch ;  and  we  could  come  back  in  the  afternoon." 

Now  this  was  a  most  unexpected  proposal ;  for  never  once, 
since  the  unlucky  episode  of  the  music-hall  and  Captain  Raby, 
had  he  ofEered  to  introduce,  her  to  any  of  his  associates,  just  as 
never  once  had  he  brought  either  friend  or  acquaintance  home  to 
these  lodgings.  But  Sabina  assented  forthwith,  and  cheerfully; 
and  she  went  away  to  make  herself  as  neat  and  smart  as  possible; 
and  was  resolved  to  show  herself  grateful  for  his  consideration, 
and  as  amiable  as  might  be.  In  the  hansom  going  down  to  Vic- 
toria station  he  said,  rather  apologetically, 

"You  know  they're  not  very  distinguished  people,  those  Deanes 
we  are  going  to  see.  But  they're  good  enough  kind  of  folk;  and 
the  world's  made  up  of  all  sorts ;  we've  got  to  take  them  as  they 
are." 

The  apology  was  unnecessary;  Sabina  was  resolved,  not  upon 
taking  them  as.  they  were,  but  upon  making  the  best  of  them, 
whoever  they  might  be.  And  indeed  the  little  trip  promised  to 
be  very  pleasant.  Once  away  from  London,  the  clear  country 
light  was  a  cheerful  thing  to  look  at;  and  the  air  that  blew  in  at 
the  carriage  window  was  mild  and  sweet;  and  she  could  not  but 
think  that  along  the  hedge-rows  there — in  the  sheltered  places — 
or  on  the  warm  sunny  banks — or  in  the  clearances  of  the  woods 
— the  firstlings  of  the  year  must  be  appearing  now ;  the  red  dead- 
nettle,  the  ground-ivy,  here  and  there  a  patch  of  pale  primroses,  a 
sweet  violet  half  hidden  among  the  withered  grass.     She  would 


ALTERED    PLANS.  223 

like  to  have  brought  a  dozen  or  so  of  the  children  she  knew,  and 
turned  them  loose  into  these  wooded  lanes.  Fred  Foster  was 
reading  a  newspaper,  and  she  had  leisure  to  picture  them  straying 
through  the  dryer  glades  or  chasing  each  other  over  the  wide 
commons.  She  could  almost  hear  them  lauofhinir.  It  was  a  sprinn^ 
day,  fit  for  children  and  children's  delights. 

They  were  received  at  Witstead  station  by  Mr.  Deane  himself, 
who  seemed  to  have  dressed  himself  in  a  gay  fashion  for  this  oc- 
casion. He  was  distinctly  a  horsey-looking  man  of  about  five- 
and-thirty,  with  a  thin,  dried,  good-humored  face,  small,  clear  eyes, 
and  neatly  cut  whiskers.  Towards  Sabina  he  was  particularly 
civil,  not  to  say  obsequious ;  told  her  that  he  had  that  very  morn- 
ing been  reading  a  speech  of  her  father's,  and— though  they  dif- 
fered in  politics — he  considered  it  a  remarkably  able  speech — 
remarkably  able.  And  might  he  have  the  pleasure  of  introducing 
his  wife,  who  was  waiting  outside  the  station  with  the  pony-chaise? 
Mrs.  Deane  turned  out  to  be  a  buxom  and  rather  pretty  little  per- 
son of  about  eight-and-twenty,  with  cheeks  like  the  rose,  merry 
blue  eyes,  and  a  manner  that  was  chirrupy  and  cheerful  to  the 
verge  of  audacity.  And  as  the  gentlemen  preferred  to  walk,  Mrs. 
Deane  would  have  Sabina  take  a  scat  beside  her  in  the  pony- 
chaise;  and  then  they  drove  away  together — towards  the  little 
straggling  village  of  Witstead,  that  is  dotted  in  a  staccato  fashion 
along  a  bit  of  the  Guildford  road. 

The  distance  from  the  station  to  the  village  is  barely  over  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile ;  but  Fred  Foster  and  his  companion  would 
appear  to  have  walked  rather  slowly — no  doubt  talking  over  their 
business  affairs;  for  before  they  arrived  at  Wayside  Cottage,  the 
mistress  of  that  small  establishment  had  had  time  to  introduce 
Sabina  to  her  family,  as  she  called  her  miscellaneous  collection  of 
pets.  Other  family  had  she  none;  but  these  afforded  her  suffi- 
cient interest  and  occupation,  what  with  iier  cockatoos,  and  white 
mice,  and  love-birds,  and  marmosets,  and  squirrels,  and  kittens,  and 
canaries.  Indeed,  by  the  time  that  the  voluble  and  roseate  little 
woman  had  expatiated  on  the  merits  and  virtues  and  tricks  and 
failings  of  this  host  of  favorites,  and  by  the  time  that  Fred  Foster 
and  his  companion  had  finished  their  talk  in  the  little  bit  of 
front  garden  overlooking  the  front  road,  Mrs.  Deane  begged  to 
be  excused,  for  that  now  she  had  to  be  off  to  get  luncheon  hur- 
ried up. 


224  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

Well,  Sabina  was  not  much  interested  in  these  good  people,  but 
she  was  in  nowise  offended  by  them,  and  during  this  little  ban- 
quet she  tried  to  be  as  amiable  and  responsive  to  all  their  kindness 
as  she  well  could  be.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Deane  monopolized  most  of 
her  attention ;  for  Fred  Foster  and  his  friend  were  discussing  the 
recent  University  Boat-race,  and  also  certain  wrestling  contests 
then  going  on  at  Lillie  Bridge.  And  soon  it  appeared  that  this 
gay  and  rubicund  little  lady  had  a  most  astonishing  acquaintance 
with  what  was  to  the  fore  in  the  way  of  amusements  in  London. 
She  knew  all  the  pieces  at  the  theatres  ;  she  had  heard  all  the  new 
music ;  from  Muswell  Hill  and  its  racing  to  the  Crystal  Palace  and 
its  fireworks,  she  and  her  husband  seemed  to  have  been  everywhere 
and  to  have  seen  everything. 

"  I  should  have  thought,"  Sabina  said,  in  some  surprise,  "  that 
you  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  get  much  to  the  theatre — 
living  in  a  remote  place  like  this — " 

"  Bless  you,"  said  the  other,  cheerfully,  "  that  is  the  advantage 
of  living  anywhere  within  a  reasonable  driving  distance  of  Epsom  ; 
the  late  trains  make  it  so  easy.  Did  you  think  we  were  buried 
alive  down  here?  Oh,  I  think  we  know  a  little  of  what's  going 
on  in  town." 

"  So  it  would  seem,"  Sabina  said,  smiling. 

On  the  other  hand,  whenever  the  conversation  was  general,  Mr. 
Deane's  manner  towards  Sabina  was  most  deferential  ;  and  he 
warmly  expressed  concurrence  with  whatever  she  said,  and  was 
pleased  to  grin  when  there  happened  to  be  something  cheerful. 
Nor,  when  luncheon  was  over,  could  he  be  induced  to  light  a  cigar 
in  that  room,  though  everybody  else  was  willing  that  he  should  do 
so  ;  he  refused  flatly,  and  said  that  he  and  Foster  would  smoke  on 
their  way  over  to  the  stables  of  a  great  house  near  by,  which  they 
had  promised  to  visit.  Then,  again,  instead  of  at  once  following 
Fred  Foster  out  to  the  front  gate,  he  found  a  chance  of  calling  his 
wife  aside,  and  said,  quickly, 

"  Mind  this,  Susie,  if  you're  singing  any  songs  now,  be  a  little 
careful.  Don't  have  any  of  the  '  a-little-later-on-in-the-evening ' 
kind,  there's  a  good  girl." 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  said  Mrs.  Deane,  with  a  cheerful  little  gig- 
gle, "  I'm  not  going  to  sing  any  songs.  I'm  going  to  take  her 
for  a  drive  to  Box  Hill.  I  think  she's  an  awfully  nice  girl. 
Whatever  made  her  marry  Fred  Foster  ?" 


ALTERED    PLANS.  225 

"  Women  do  strange  things,"  her  husband  said.  "  I  suppose 
it  was  the  accident  that  brought  it  about." 

"Then  there's  another  thing,  Jim,"  she  said.  "I  wish  you 
wouldn't  allow  Fred  Foster  to  jump  on  you.  What  right  has  he 
to  patronize  you?  Ain't  you  as  good  as  he  is? — well,  I  should 
think  so !  Just  you  cheek  him  a  bit — it'll  do  him  all  the  good  in 
the  world.  You  keep  him  in  his  place,  Jim.  His  wife's  worth  a 
dozen  of  him — set  him  up !" 

When  the  two  husbands  were  gone,  their  wives  got  into  the 
pony-chaise,  Mrs.  Deane  taking  the  reins;  and  presently  they  were 
driving  away  along  the  Surrey  highway,  on  a  spring  day  that 
was  pleasant  enough,  with  its  purple  clouds,  and  silver  light,  and 
warm,  humid  air.  And  somehow  Sabina  preferred  Mrs.  Deane  in 
the  pony-chaise  to  Mrs.  Deane  at  table ;  for  in  the  pony-chaise 
she  looked  so  trim  and  neat  and  jolly  ;  whereas  at  table  she  had 
a  trick  of  trying  to  eat  and  speak  at  once — a  practice  which  saves 
time,  to  be  sure,  but  is  not  otherwise  to  be  admired.  They  drove 
away  down  by  Mickleham  and  Juniper  Hill  and  Burford  Bridge; 
then  they  struck  ofi  the  main  highway  to  make  the  ascent  of  Box 
Hill ;  and  here  Mrs.  Deane  surrendered  the  reins  to  Sabina,  to  let 
the  patient  and  stout  little  cob  take  the  long  zigzags  at  his  case, 
while  she  took  a  bee-line  up  the  hill  with  a  lightness  of  foot  that 
showed  she  was  used  to  the  neighborhood.  She  got  in  again  at 
the  top ;  and  then  they  made  away  for  Headley  Heath  and  Wal- 
ton Downs — making  no  haste  of  the  drive  indeed,  for  they  had 
plenty  of  time,  and  the  day  was  mild  for  March. 

The  blithe  little  Mrs.  Deane  seemed  rather  curious  to  learn  in 
what  measure  Sabina  was  acquainted  with,  or  interested  in,  her 
husband's  pursuits ;  though  here  Sabina  was  reticent  enough  ;  and 
also  she  wanted  to  know  how  a  mere  bicycle  accident  should 
have  led  to  acquaintanceship,  and  then  friendship,  and  tlion  mar- 
riage. 

"  I  wonder  whether  he  will  be  quite  up  to  his  old  form  next 
week,"  she  said. 

"  But  how  ?"  Sabina  asked. 

"  In  the  steeple-chase." 

"What  steeple-chase?" 

"Why,  don't  you  know?  The  Spring  Steep'.e-cliase  at  Man- 
chester. T  fancy  that  this  is  the  first  one  he  has  ridden  in  since 
that  accident ;  that's  a  long  time  for  a  man  to  be  kept  away  from 
10* 


226  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

what  used  to  be  his  favorite  hobby.  The  loss  of  money,  too ;  a 
hundred  to  nothing  is  a  nice  Uttle  bet  when  one  is  liard  up." 

"Do  you  go  much  to  races?"  Sabina  ventured  to  inquire. 

"  I  ?  Not  I !  The  ordinary  race-meetings  are  no  use  for  wom- 
en at  all ;  the  men  are  after  business — not  after  lunches,  and  swell 
gowns,  and  gloves.  But  when  your  own  set  have  pulled  ofE  a 
good  thing,  and  the  men  are  back  in  town,  then  you  may  have  a 
very  nice  time  ;  they're  free-handed  then ;  easy  come,  easy  go ; 
there  are  a  good  many  little  presents  about.  But  the  bookie  wins 
in  the  end  —  yes,  and  all  along  the  way,  too ;  it's  no  good  the 
clever  ones  thinking  they  can  stand  against  the  market  odds ; 
though  they  may  have  a  stroke  of  luck  now  and  again.  Your 
husband  was  awful  lucky  last  year." 

"Was  he?"  Sabina  said;  and  then,  as  that  sounded  as  if  she 
were  strangely  ignorant  of  her  husband's  affairs,  she  instantly  add- 
ed, "Yes,  I  believe  he  was.  They  say  he  is  a  very  good  judge  of 
horses — and — and  the  one  he  has  a  share  in  did  very  well  last 
year,  I  believe.     But  I  don't  understand  much  about  it." 

"  The  less  you  know  the  better,"  said  Mrs.  Deane,  curtly.  "  I've 
heard  a  good  deal  too  much." 

In  course  of  time  they  got  back  to  Wayside  Cottage,  and  found 
that  the  two  husbands  had  returned  ;  and,  as  there  was  a  train  due 
in  about  half  an  hour,  they  did  not  take  the  pony  out;  they  mere- 
ly stopped  for  a  cup  of  tea,  and  then  Mrs.  Dcane  drove  Sabina  to 
the  station.  Fred  Foster  arrived  there  a  few  minutes  afterwards; 
and  presently  they  were  on  their  way  back  to  town. 

"  A  nice  little  cottage,  that?"  he  said,  inquiringly. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  answered. 

"  I  should  think  the  garden  would  look  pretty  in  the  summer." 

"  Yes;  and  they  have  a  good  deal  of  fruit,  Mrs.  Deane  says." 

"  What  kind  of  a  trap  was  that — comfortable  ?" 

"  Very." 

"  And  the  cob  ?  it  seemed  to  me  a  niceish-looking  beast." 

"It  is  very  quiet,"  Sabina  answered.  "And  very  willing  at  the 
hill-work." 

"Ah,"  said  he,  "I'm  glad  you  approve  of  the  place,  for  I've 
just  taken  it  over  from  my  worthy  friend  Deane." 

"Do  you  mean  we  are  to  live  there?"  Sabina  said,  somewhat 
aghast. 

"  If  you  are  to  live  anywhere  at  all  in  the  country.     I  don't 


A    MESSAGE.  22? 

see  where  you  could  get  a  prettier  place,  or  more  convenient,"  he 
said,  cheerf  ulh\  "  And  we  can  get  it  at  once.  They're  remov- 
ing to  Newmarket.  Mrs.  Deane  doesn't  know  as  yet,  though ; 
guess  she'll  tear  her  hair — and  his  too — when  she's  told  ;  for  she 
is  rather  fond  of  a  little  fling  in  town.  And  I've  taken  over  the 
cob  and  pony-chaise,  too,  though  it's  needless  to  say  I  haven't 
paid  for  them  yet;  if  the  beast  is  quiet,  you'll  have  no  trouble 
about  driving  him;  it  will  be  quite  an  occupation  for  you." 

And  thus  came  to  an  end  Sabina's  mission-work  in  London  ; 
she  was  no  longer  an  "  angel  in  the  house,"  or,  rather,  in  many, 
many  houses ;  she  was  now  merely  Mrs.  Foster,  of  Wayside  Cot- 
tage, Witstead. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  MESSAGE. 


No  sooner  was  Sabina  installed  in  her  new  home  than  she  be- 
gan to  try  to  make  it  as  neat  and  pretty  and  attractive  as  might 
be ;  and  she  had  })lcnty  of  leisure  to  do  so,  for,  as  it  happened, 
Fred  Foster  had  to  be  down  at  Northampton  just  at  this  time. 
And  no  doubt  through  all  these  little  preparations  there  ran  the 
wistful  hope  that  on  his  return  he  might  perhaps  be  a  little  more 
kind  and  considerate  towards  her  than  he  had  been.  Nay,  she 
began  to  take  herself  to  task,  and  to  seek  reasons  for  his  appar- 
ent discontent  with  her.  Perhaps  her  character  was  somewhat 
too  severe?  Perhaps  it  was  true  that  she  had  impossible  stand- 
ards of  duty  and  conduct,  that  only  served  to  disconcert  people? 
Perhaps  she  ought  to  aim  at  being  a  little  more  like  Mrs.  Deane, 
whose  robustly  merry  spirits  seemed  to  please  her  husband  very 
well?  Perhaps  she  was  too  straitlaced — too  exacting — not  toler- 
ant enongh  of  other  people's  ways  and  opinions  and  pursuits? 
For  Sabina  could  hardly  believe  that  this  alteration  in  his  man- 
ner towards  her  was  due  merely  to  disappointment  over  money 
matters.  Why,  before  marriage,  what  she  had  chiefly  admired 
in  him  was  his  courageous  ciieerfiiiiiess  in  making  the  best  of 
any  circumstances.  It  is  true  that  his  mother  said  on  one  occa- 
sion, 

*'  Well,  Sabina,  I  am  afraid  Fred  is  a  spoiled  child,  and  I  am 


228  SABINA   ZEMBEA. 

afraid  I  am  partly  responsible  for  it;  but  he  is  very  good-hu- 
mored and  nice  so  long  as  be  has  bis  own  way." 

But  snrely  be  was  baving  bis  own  way  now  ?  She  bad  given 
up  all  the  interests  of  her  life  to  please  him :  she  was  ready  to 
obey  his  slightest  wish ;  she  would  try  to  mould  her  character, 
her  opinions,  her  conduct,  in  any  direction  that  would  be  agree- 
able to  him.  And  perhaps,  when  be  returned,  be  would  be  a  lit- 
tle more  kind  to  her — and  remain  a  little  more  with  her?  And 
she  would  not  forget  to  be  grateful  to  him  for  his  not  insisting 
on  her  personally  going  to  seek  money  from  her  father. 

But  when  Fred  Foster's  mother  beard  of  their  removal  to  this 
furnished  bouse  in  Surrey,  she  was  exceedingly  angry,  and  wrote 
a  long  and  indignant  letter  to  Sabina  about  her  son's  perversity, 
as  she  chose  to  consider  it.  On  Foster's  return  from  Northamp- 
ton be  found  this  protest  awaiting  him,  for  he  had  enjoined  Sa- 
bina to  preserve  for  him  all  letters  coming  from  bis  mother;  and 
when  be  had  read  it,  he  pitched  it  back  impatiently  on  to  the 
chimney-piece. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  turning  to  Sabina,  "  I  suppose  you  wrote  com- 
plaining that  it  was  a  lonely  place  —  that  there  wasn't  enough 
society  for  you." 

"  Ob  no,  Fred,  I  did  not,"  she  said,  rather  timidly.  *'  I — I — 
said  I  was  afraid  you  would  find  it  dull — it  was  about  you  that  I 
wrote — " 

"  Oh,  you  may  make  your  mind  easy  about  me,"  said  he,  care- 
lessly. "You  needn't  imagine  that  I  am  going  to  sit  down  and 
bite  my  nails — or  plant  kidney-beans.  I  can't  afford  it.  Our 
circumstances  aren't  so  flourishing  as  all  that;  I  must  be  about 
just  as  much  as  ever;  you  needn't  bother  about  me." 

Then  he  began  to  make  inquiries  about  the  arrangements  she 
had  made  with  the  Epsom  tradesmen  ;  and  it  was  clear  that  he 
meant  this  household  to  be  conducted  with  a  view  to  economy. 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  "  the  simplest  way  to  pay  Jim  Deane  for 
the  cob  and  the  pony-cbaise  would  be  to  sell  them  both;  and 
that  would  save  old  Noel's  wages,  besides  the  keep  of  the  cob — " 

"But  how  should  we  get  the  things  out  from  Epsom?"  she 
asked. 

"  You  could  send  the  girl  in  by  train  at  a  pinch.  Or  I  dare 
say  most  of  the  Epsom  tradesmen  have  carts.  But  I  sba'n't  de- 
cide on  that  yet;  we'll  see  what  Newmarket  does  for  me.     Oh, 


A    MESSAGE.  229 

by-the-way,  if  you  have  any  questions  to  ask  of  Mrs.  Deane,  just 
jot  them  down  on  a  piece  of  paper.  I  shall  see  her  to-morrow 
night  most  likely." 

"  Are  you  going  away  again,  then  ?"  Sabina  asked,  without  rais- 
ing her  eyes. 

"  Yes  ;  I'm  going  down  to  Newmarket  to-morrow." 

So  Sabina  was  left  once  more  alone ;  and  somehow  she  was 
more  hopeless  now,  as  she  tried  this  or  tliat  bit  of  additional  dec- 
oration within-doors,  or  sought  employment  outside  in  helping 
the  little  old  man  who  worked  in  the  garden  when  he  was  done 
with  the  stable.  At  first  she  had  got  this  ancient  to  drive  her  in 
the  pony-chaise — in  his  faded  livery ;  but  he  was  not  very  com- 
municative; and  she  preferred  being  alone;  and  so  she  took  to 
driving  by  herself — going  considerable  distances  sometimes — and 
letting  the  cob  walk  for  the  most  part.  In  this  way  she  became 
very  familiar  with  the  not  over-peopled  neighborhood  surround- 
ing her,  with  the  Commons  of  Stoke  and  Leatherhead  and  Esher, 
with  Fitcham  Downs  and  Micklehara  Downs,  with  Headley  Heath 
and  Walton  Heath,  and  all  the  scattered  little  hamlets  and  nooks 
and  by-ways  to  which  she  could  gain  access.  It  was  a  solitary 
life  for  a  young  woman  to  lead.  Her  ostensible  object  was  the 
gathering  of  wild  flowers  for  the  adornment  of  the  cottage  parlor. 
The  cob  would  stand  patiently  enough  in  the  lanes,  or  on  the 
open  heath,  while  she  explored  the  hedge -rows  or  the  broken 
sand-pits.  But  sometimes  she  forgot  this  pursuit — oftenest  when 
she  had  got  up  to  some  height  from  which  she  could  look  north- 
ward across  the  wide,  undulating,  wooded  country  ;  and  then  slie 
would  remain  there  motionless,  silent,  absent- minded,  until  she 
felt  helpless  tears  swimming  into  her  eyes.  For  she  was  looking 
across  that  wide  landscape  to  London  town,  where  still  she  had 
one  or  two  friends. 

One  day  her  solitude  was  broken  in  npon  ;  for  Mrs.  Wygram, 
and  Janie,  and  Janie's  artist-sweetheart  all  came  down  to  see  her; 
and  as  this  was  the  first  time  that  Sabina  had  acted  as  hostess  in 
her  own  home,  she  was  very  proud  and  pleased,  and  the  excite- 
ment of  seeing  them  brought  quite  a  flush  of  aiiiination  to  the 
pale  and  sad  face.  As  for  Janie  (after  one  quick,  nervous,  anx- 
ious look  of  inquiry  directed  to  Sabina's  eyes),  she  declared  that 
the  little  cottage  was  most  charmingly  pretty,  the  neighborhood 
was  delightfully  picturesque,  the  air  so  sweet  after  London,  the 


230  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

blossom  on  the  fruit-trees  so  beautiful.  She  would  go  into  the 
garden,  and  was  interested  in  the  smallest  details;  she  went  into 
the  stable  and  patted  the  cob ;  she  thought  the  little  maid-servant 
such  a  pretty-looking  country  lass.  But  when  they  had  got  in- 
doors again,  and  when  Sabina  had  gone  away  for  a  couple  of 
minutes  to  superintend  lunch,  Janie  said,  sharply, 

"Philip,  why  do  you  stare  at  her  so?  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
stare  at  her  so  !" 

"  I  think  she  is  more  beautiful  than  ever,"  he  said,  absently. 
"But  it  is  a  rarer  kind  of  beauty — something  finer  —  Janie,  I 
don't  know  why,  but  to  me  she  hasn't  the  look  of  a  happy 
woman," 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Phil !"  Janie  exclaimed,  "  Don't  say  she 
isn't  happy  !"  And  then  she  fought  with  her  own  fears,  "Why, 
of  course  she  is  happy !  What  did  you  expect  ?  You've  seen 
Sabie  before.  She's  not  the  giggling  bar-maid  kind  of  person. 
Why  shouldn't  Sabie  be  reserved — and — and — and  refined — and 
— and  quiet  in  manner?    Did  you  expect  her  to  giggle?" 

"Janie!"  the  mother  said,  and  the  warning  was  only  given  in 
time ;  for  just  then  Sabina  made  her  appearance. 

But  surely  this  gentle  hostess  was  not  unhappy,  as  she  sate  there 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  smiling  and  talking  to  her  friends,  and 
rather  bewildering  the  young  artist  with  the  graciousness  of  her 
look  and  address.  He  was  accustomed  to  seek  his  inspiration 
from  many  sources,  but  he  could  not  quite  get  at  the  secret  here. 
Was  it  her  eyes — that  were  so  frank  and  generous  and  kind  ?  Or 
was  it  the  proud  set  of  the  head  and  neck — as  she  seemed  to 
incline  a  little  in  order  to  listen  to  her  next  neighbor?  Her 
shoulders  and  the  lines  of  her  throat  were  magnificent,  he  could 
.see  easily  enough ;  but  that  was  merely  physical  and  obvious ; 
that  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  subtle  charm  and  sweetness  of 
her  presence.  Wherein  lay  the  mystery,  then  ?  Was  it  her  dis- 
position ?  But  a  plain  woman  might  have  a  beautiful  disposition 
without  possessing  this  nameless  attraction.  Or  was  it  associa- 
tion ?  There  was  something  in  the  Madonna-like  forehead  and 
in  the  calm  of  the  eyes  that  seemed  to  suggest  the  ideals  of  the 
early  Italian  artists  —  the  serene  loveliness  —  the  sadness,  even, 
with  which  they  had  endowed  their  imaginings  of  the  blessed 
among  women.  He  thought  he  would  like  to  have  a  look 
through  the  National  Gallery.     Janie  would  go  with  him  —  it 


A   MESSAGE.  231 

would  be  a  pleasant  task  for  her  to  seek  out  something  resembling 
Sabina's  expression  in  those  visions  and  dreams  of  the  painters  of 
an  earlier  world. 

After  luncheon  was  over,  Sabina  took  Mrs.  Wygram  away  for 
H  drive  in  the  pony-chaise,  considerately  leaving  the  two  young 
folks  to  go  for  a  walk  by  themselves.  And  they  had  plenty  to 
talk  over — at  least  he  had  ;  for  he  was  telling  her  of  the  various 
Italian  cities  he  proposed  they  should  visit  on  their  approaching 
wedding-trip ;  and  he  was  debating  whether  it  was  better  to 
arrive  at  Venice  at  night  or  in  the  morning.  Which  was  likely 
to  be  the  more  striking  to  her  who  had  never  been  there  at  all — 
the  hushed,  mysterious  blackness  of  the  canals,  and  the  gliding 
by  of  the  hearse-like  and  half-invisible  gondolas,  or  the  splendor 
of  the  dawn  widening  over  the  great  lagoon  and  making  a  won- 
der of  the  islands,  and  the  tall  campaniii,  and  the  domes,  and  the 
palaces  ?  He  did  not  address  his  conversation  to  her  direct ;  he 
talked  as  if  he  was  looking  at  some  one  away  along  the  road ; 
perhaps  that  was  the  reason  he  did  not  perceive  that  Janie  was 
paying  him  but  scant  attention.     At  last  he  said  to  her, 

"  Why  are  you  silent  ?     What  are  you  thinking  of  ?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  one  night  at  Walter  Lindsay's,"  Janie 
answered,  with  a  sigh.  "Ah,  if  you  had  seen  Sabie  that  night! 
I  never  saw  her  so — so  radiant.  But  I  suppose  the  world  changes 
to  every  one." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  know  that  she  has  changed 
so  much  for  the  worse.  Of  course,  I  don't  want  to  say  anytliing 
against  her,  or  else  you'd  be  up  in  arms  in  a  moment;  but  the 
Miss  Zembra  that  I  used  to  see  sometimes — well,  everybody  could 
recognize  her  beauty — that  was  apparent  enough — but  I  confess 
that  she  was  just  a  little  too  straightforward  in  her  manner  for 
me.  There  was  a  kind  of  want  of  sensitiveness  somehow  that  is 
difficult  to  exphiin — she  was  just  a  trifle  too  direct  and  frank — " 

"She  was  a  healthy  and  high-spirited  young  woman,"  Janie 
said,  warmly,  "  and  very  busy,  with  little  time  to  study  small 
details  or  think  of  what  she  was  saying ;  but  she  was,  always  and 
always,  just  graciousness  and  goodness  itself  !" 

"  Oil  yes,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  that  was  so.  But  I  can't 
help  thinking  there  is  a  finer  touch  about  her  now — " 

"I  suppose  you  think  it  is  line  to  be  unhappy!"  said  Janie, 
rather  bitterly. 


232  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

But  she  instantly  drew  back  from  that  proposition — or,  rather, 
from  the  suspicion  implied  in  it. 

"  Oh  no,  I  hope  she  is  not  unhappy,"  she  said.  "  Iler  husband 
seems  to  be  away  a  great  deal,  certainly  ;  and  she  may  be  feeling 
lonely  there ;  but,  you  know,  he  is  mad  about  horse-racing  and 
such  things;  and  as  soon  as  he  has  run  through  the  little  money 
that  he  has,  then  he  will  be  compelled  to  stop,  and  begin  and  live 
a  more  domestic  life.  In  the  mean  time,"  Janie  added,  plaintive- 
ly, "if  he  doesn't  want  her,  I  wish  he  would  give  her  to  us.  Ah, 
wouldn't  you  like  to  see  Sabie  again  in  Kensington  Square?" 

Sabiua  seemed  to  be  loath  to  part  with  her  visitors  that  after- 
noon. 

"You  will  come  up  for  the  wedding?"  Janie  said,  shyly,  as 
they  stood  together  in  the  railway-station. 

"Oh  yes;  and  for  the  Private  View  at  the  Grosvenor?"  said  the 
young  artist,  who  seemed  to  consider  these  two  events  as  of  about 
equal  importance  to  him. 

"Sabie,  do  you  remember  the  Private  View  at  the  Academy 
last  year  ?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  the  question,  for  the  train  came  in  just 
then ;  and  presently  these  good  people  were  on  their  way  to  Lon- 
don, and  Sabina  was  slowly  driving  back  to  her  solitary  home. 

Her  next  visitors  were  of  another  complexion.  Fred  Foster 
came  back,  of  course,  for  the  Epsom  Spring  Meeting ;  and  as  he 
was  leaving  on  the  first  morning,  he  said  to  her, 

"  Most  likely  some  of  these  fellows  will  be  coming  here  to-night 
for  a  smoke  and  a  drink ;  but  that  needn't  bother  you ;  you 
needn't  put  in  an  appearance  unless  you  like.  It  was  their  own 
proposal ;  and  I'm  under  obligations  to  Johnny  Russell — I  did  not 
like  to  refuse — " 

"  But,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  couldn't  I  get  some  dinner  for  thera  ? 
I  think  I  could  manage." 

"Oh  no,"  he  said,  impatiently.  "We  shall  dine  at  Epsom. 
And  you  needn't  be  afraid — Raby  won't  be  one  of  them." 

"Shouldn't  I  have  some  supper  for  them,  Fred?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  no ;  it's  drink  they'll  want — see  that  there's  plenty  of 
soda-water." 

Sabina  said  nothing  more;  but  all  the  same  she  busied  herself 
during  the  day  in  preparing  for  thera  a  neat  little  supper,  so  that 
they  might  have  it  if  they  wished  it ;  and  long  before  they  ar- 


A   MESSAGE.  233 

rived  it  was  all  ready  for  them — a  couple  of  cold  fowls  and  some 
ham  and  salad,  with  bottled  stout,  and  whiskey  and  soda-water 
in  the  cupboard;  there  was  no  wine  in  the  house.  And  she  had 
a  fire  burning  brightly  ;  and  there  were  clusters  of  wild  flowers 
adorning  the  white  table-cover;  altogether  this  little  apartment 
looked  very  neat  and  comfortable. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  they  arrived ;  she  heard  the 
noisy  crew  drive  up  to  the  gate.  And  then  amid  the  tumult  of 
their  getting  down,  she  could  make  out  her  husband's  voice — and 
sulky  enough  it  sounded. 

"  Jiold  your  row,  can't  you  ?  Do  you  want  to  make  it  out 
you're  all  drunk  ?" 

"  Keep  your  hair  on,  old  man  !"  another  said. 

"You  always  were  a  bad  loser,  Freddie,"  said  a  third;  "but  I 
must  say  your  luck  to-day  was  awful,  all  the  way  through." 

And  then,  as  they  got  to  the  door,  one  said, 

"  What  is  it  to  be  ?     Crowns  and  pounds  ?" 

But  when  they  came  inside,  a  hush  fell  over  them,  and  they  left 
their  coats  and  hats  in  the  passage  quietly  enough ;  and  then, 
during  their  brief  and  rough-and-ready  introduction  to  Sabina; 
their  manner  was  most  denmre.  Johnny  Russell  was  the  only 
one  of  them  she  knew ;  and  he  was  quite  deferential. 

"  Come  along,  now,  into  the  other  room,"  Foster  said  ;  "  if  Fm 
dead  broke,  I  mean  to  have  a  drink  anyway." 

"Won't  you  smoke  here?"  Sabina  suggested.  "Later  on  you 
may  want  a  little  supper." 

"  Oh  no,  we  don't  want  any  supper,"  he  said.  "  Come  along, 
you  fellows." 

Being  thus  imperatively  bidden,  they  followed  him  into  the  pas- 
sage ;  the  next  raotnent  the  open  door  showed  them  the  supper 
already  laid  on  the  table. 

"Here,  what's  the  use  of  this?"  he  said,  turning  to  Sabina.  "I 
told  you  we  shouldn't  want  any  supper.  Send  tiie  girl  and  have 
the  table  cleared." 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Foster,"  Johnny  Russell  at  once  protested,  "  that  is 
rather  cool.  If  Mrs.  Foster  has  been  so  kind  as  to  mean  this  for 
us — well,  1  think  you  might  give  us  the  chance — what  do  you 
say  ?" 

He  turned  to  the  others. 

"  Yes,  yes,  certainly,"  was  the  unanimous  answer;  but  wluilhcr 


234  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

that  was  prompted  by  any  wish  for  supper,  or  as  a  compliment 
to  their  hostess,  may  be  a  matter  of  doubt. 

"  Oh,  very  well — very  well,"  Foster  said,  and  he  went  into  the 
room. 

Sabina  remained  for  a  second  uncertain ;  whereupon  Johnny 
Russell  facetiously  remarked, 

"I  think  we  shall  be  surer  of  our  welcome  when  Mrs,  Foster 
takes  her  place  at  the  table." 

Sabina  needed  no  further  invitation ;  and  when  she  sate  down 
they  were  very  kind  and  attentive  to  her ;  though  she  had  to  re- 
mind them  that  it  was  she  who  ought  to  wait  upon  them.  And 
if,  as  is  highly  probable,  they  wanted  no  supper  at  all,  still,  out  of 
courtesy,  tliey  pretended  to  be  valiant  trencher-men,  and  Sabina 
was  highly  pleased.  Fred  Foster  was  the  only  one  who  did  not 
join  in ;  perhaps  it  was  his  losses  during  the  day  that  made  him 
moody ;  at  all  events,  he  remained  standing  by  the  fire ;  and  he 
had  lit  a  cigar. 

Supper  over,  and  things  cleared  away  by  the  little  maid-serv- 
ant, Sabina  withdrew  ;  and  she  knew,  by  the  hilarity  that  speedily 
followed,  that  she  had  done  right  in  leaving  them  free.  This  was 
not  whist  they  were  playing,  she  guessed ;  probably  it  was  some 
round  game,  in  which  the  ill-luck  of  the  unfortunate  was  greeted 
with  derision;  anyhow,  the  noise  did  not  disturb  her;  she  read 
contentedly  in  the  small  drawing-room  until  (following  an  old 
habit  about  which  Janie  used  to  tease  her)  she  quietly  fell  asleep. 
It  was  near  midnight  when  she  awoke;  they  were  still  playing, 
but  less  noisily ;  so  leaving  them  to  themselves,  she  slipped  up- 
stairs and  went  to  bed. 

But  whatever  game  that  was  they  had  been  playing,  Fred  Fos- 
ter had  burned  his  fingers  at  it,  as  she  discovered  next  morning. 

"  Those  brutes  didn't  go  till  three,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  their 
walk  back  to  Epsom  did  them  good.  I  know  they  managed  to 
clean  me  out  before  they  left." 

And  then  he  said, 

"  Look  here,  Sabie,  I've  been  pretty  hard  hit  lately,  in  several 
ways.     I  think  I  must  sell  the  cob  and  the  pony-chaise." 

''  To  pay  Mr.  Deane  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh  no.  He's  all  right.  He  has  got  a  bill  for  that.  But  I 
must  get  a  bit  of  money  somehow.  And  this  would  save  old 
Noel's  wages,  and  the  keep  of  the  cob  besides." 


A   MESSAGE.  235 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  without  any  word  of  remonstrance  or 
regret. 

But  this  sale  of  the  cob  and  the  pony-chaise — they  were  taken 
away  a  couple  of  days  thereafter — left  her  life  at  the  cottage  even 
more  monotonous  and  empty  than  it  had  been  before.  She  work- 
ed a  little  in  the  garden  ;  she  read  sometimes ;  she  wrote  to  Janie, 
or  to  Mrs.  Foster  in  Buckinghamshire,  evading  the  old  lady's  per- 
tinacious inquiries  about  the  whereabouts  and  conduct  of  her  son. 
But  it  was  a  lonely  life;  the  hours  went  by  slowly;  there  were 
long  spaces  for  reverie  and  recollections  and  forecasts  which  were 
not  always  of  the  happiest  kind.  But  no  word  of  complaint  es- 
caped her;  whatever  of  despair  was  in  her  heart  she  kept  con- 
cealed there;  she  sought  for  no  sympathy.  Sometimes,  in  a 
half-hysterical  kind  of  way,  she  would  convince  herself  that  her 
father  would  relent,  and  that  a  larger  income  would  remove  her 
husband's  discontent  and  win  him  back  to  her;  and  she  would  go 
down-stairs  in  the  morning  with  some  wild  hope  of  finding  a  let- 
ter there  with  the  joyful  news.  No  such  letter  came.  Sir  An- 
thony's communications  were  punctual ;  beyond  that,  nothing. 
And  so  the  slow  days  went  by,  each  one  laying  a  heavier  hand 
upon  her  heart. 

She  did  not  go  to  the  Private  View  of  the  Grosvcnor,  nor  yet 
to  Janie  Wygram's  wedding;  but  thereafter  she  got  many  and 
many  a  letter  from  Janie,  describing  their  wanderings  in  Italy, 
and  her  joy  over  these  new  experiences.  The  young  married 
couple  were  not  away  very  long,  though  they  managed  to  visit  a 
good  many  places  in  the  time  ;  and  Sabina  began  to  count  the 
days  until  their  return  ;  for  somehow  she  wished  to  know  that 
Janie  was  in  London. 

It  was  the  second  morning  after  they  got  back  that  Janie  re- 
ceived the  following  note : 

"Dear  Friend, — Do  you  remember  one  night  at  Mrs.  Mel- 
lord's  a  Scotch  girl  singing  a  song  that  began  something  like  this — 

"  '  0  can  ye  sew  cushions, 
And  can  ye  sew  sheets, 
And  can  ye  sing  hallaloo 
When  the  bah-n  greets  ?' 

Do  you  think  you  could  get  me  a  copy  of  it  ?     You  will  try,  for 
Sable's  sake." 


23G       -  SABINA    ZKMBRA. 

Just  as  fast  as  ever  she  could  walk  from  Netting  Hill  to  Ken- 
sington Square,  Janie  carried  this  note,  and  breathless  and  joyful 
she  was  when  she  put  it  into  her  mother's  hand. 

"See,  mother,"  she  cried.  "Don't  you  understand? — it  is  a 
message !  And  oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  Poor  Sabie — she  will  not  be 
so  lonely  now." 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

IN  NEW  YORK. 


Walter  Lindsay  never  even  began  the  series  of  drawings  of 
the  river  Shannon,  the  chief  aim  of  which  was  that  they  should 
form  a  little  exhibition  by  themselves,  and  so  enable  him  to  invite 
Sabina  to  the  Private  View.  But  after  he  had  been  a  little  while 
in  America,  the  idea  recurred  to  him  of  getting  together  a  collec- 
tion of  consecutive  studies  of  one  particular  neighborhood  ;  and 
finally  he  betook  himself  to  the  Adirondacks,  remaining  there  all 
the  winter  and  most  of  the  spring,  suffering  a  good  deal  of  hard- 
ship at  times,  but  working  diligently  nevertheless.  When  he  re- 
turned to  New  York  he  brought  with  him  a  sufficient  number  of 
sketches  and  pictures  to  make  a  very  creditable  show  in  a  room 
that  he  hired  for  the  purpose  ;  and  if  there  was  no  formal  Private 
View,  many  visitors  dropped  in  in  a  casual  kind  of  way,  and  the 
newspapers  were  kind  enough  to  approve.  The  end  of  it  was  that 
a  railway  king  bought  the  entire  collection — to  be  set  into  a  series 
of  panels  in  his  smoking-room — thus  leaving  Lindsay  free  to  re- 
new his  solitary  wanderings. 

But  on  the  afternoon  that  saw  this  transaction  completed  he 
thought  he  would  treat  himself  to  a  bit  of  a  frolic  later  on  ;  and  so, 
being  president  of  a  small  society  going  by  the  name  of  the 
Monks  of  St.  Giles  (he  had  borrowed  the  title  of  a  club  to  which 
he  had  been  introduced  in  Edinburgh),  he  issued  a  summons  to 
the  members  to  meet  that  night  at  twelve;  and  then  he  went  to 
order  a  supper  for  them  at  the  hotel  where  they  were  wont  to  as- 
semble. Thence  he  strolled  along  to  a  certain  large  theatre  where 
they  were  just  then  playing  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  passed  in  by  the 
stage  entrance,  made  his  way  through  many  intricate  passages,  and 
finally  gained  admission  to  a  room  in  which  Romeo  and  Tybalt — 
in  perfect  amity — were  dressing  for  their  respective  parts. 


IN   NEW   YOKK.  237 

"The  Monks  meet  to-night;  I  thought  I  would  make  sure  of 
you,"  he  said  to  Romeo. 

"All  right,"  the  hapless  lover  answered  (for  a  wonder  he  was 
a  perfectly  ideal  Romeo  —  young,  slim,  well-featured,  well-man- 
nered). 

And  then  he  turned  to  Tybalt — who,  by-the-way,  was  as  hand- 
some as  any  Montague  of  them  all. 

"  I  sav,  Jack,  you  know  we  are  not  supposed  to  take  any  one 
with  us;  but  I'll  make  it  all  right  with  the  boys.  Will  you  go  as 
my  guest  ?    I'll  lend  you  a  cloak  and  hood." 

"I  should  like  it  immensely,"  was  the  immediate  answer. 

"  One  good  turn  deserves  another,"  Romeo  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  Jack,  why  don't  you  go  and  get  a  domino  and  mask,  and  we'll 
get  Lindsay  on  in  the  ballroom  scene?" 

"  What,  on  the  stage  ?"  cried  tlie  victim  of  this  proposal. 

"  Why,  of  course !  It  will  be  quite  a  new  experience  for  you. 
You're  not  afraid,  are  you  J  Even  if  you  should  be,  that  will  be 
another  experience.  Stage-fright  is  a  delicious  thing — when  it  is 
over,  and  you  begin  to  breathe  again.  Besides,  no  one  will  see 
you  if  you  keep  your  mask  up." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"  Oh,  anything  you  like.  You  can  stand  and  talk  to  Lady 
Capulet,  or  you  may  fan  the  nurse,  or  walk  about  among  the 
crowd.  But  you'd  better  not  wander  down  the  stage  much  ;  you 
might  get  in  the  way — and  those  Capulets  are  pretty  quick  with 
their  weapons." 

"You  may  trust  me  not  to  wander  one  inch  from  the  place  I'm 
put  in,"  observed  Walter  Lindsay,  with  marked  decision. 

"You'll  come  off  with  the  others,  of  course,"  his  friend  con- 
tinued carelessly  (indeed  he  was  more  intent  on  pencilling  his  eye- 
brows). "  And  if  you  care  to  stay  and  see  the  rest  of  the  play 
you  can  sit  in  the  first  entrance;  then  we  could  all  go  down  to- 
gether to  the  Monks." 

Well,  it  was  not  only  a  new  experience,  it  was  an  absolutely  be- 
wildering one.  For  no  sooner  had  he  donned  the  long  blue  dom- 
ino, with  its  belt  and  dagger,  and  taken  the  scarlet  mask  in  his 
hand,  than  he  was  led  on  the  stage  and  jjlaced  by  the  side  of  Lady 
Capulet's  chair  of  state ;  and  then  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were 
lost  in  ungovernable  chaos.  How  was  this  turbulent,  amorphous 
crowd,  with  its  picturesque  costumes  and  visors  and  weapons,  ever 


238  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

to  fall  into  the  regulated  harmony  of  a  ballroom  ?  The  air  was 
thick  ■with  warnings,  calls,  and  cries;  his  efforts  to  converse  with 
the  Lady  Capulet  were  of  the  most  inconsequent  kind.  But  pres- 
ently there  was  a  sound  slow  and  melodious ;  a  hush  fell  over  the 
varied  throng;  and  as  the  raising  of  the  curtain  revealed  to  him 
a  vast  space  beyond  this  ballroom  in  which  he  stood — a  space 
dusky  and  dim  and  huge,  and  filled  with  orange-hued  masses  of 
what  were  apparently  human  beings — he  found  that  these  figures 
near  him  were  gliding  through  the  gentle  movements  of  a  minuet, 
while  a  chorus  of  voices  somewhere  kept  time  with  the  strains  of 
the  music.  Curiously  enough,  he  was  not  concerned  about  the 
audience  in  the  least.  To  him  they  were  non-existent.  They 
were  eyeless,  as  it  were.  Why  should  he  heed  those  distant  and 
dusky  rows  of  inanimate  obj(!Cts  that  he  could  scarce  make  out? 
It  was  here,  in  this  actual  and  living  throng,  that  all  his  interests 
were ;  and  it  was  strange  to  be  one  of  them — to  be  in  the  midst 
of  them — not  the  remote  spectator  of  a  theatrical  display — but 
standing  among  the  guests  in  the  glare  and  gorgeousness  of  a 
ballroom  of  a  house  in  Verona.  The  whole  thing  became  mar- 
vellously and  unaccountably  real.  There  was  the  Lady  Juliet. 
.Well,  he  had  the  honor  of  a  slight  acquaintance  with  the  young 
lady  who  was  then  playing  the  part,  having  met  her  in  one  or  two 
social  circles  in  New  York;  but  now  he  forgot  all  about  that; 
surely  this  was  the  real  Juliet  in  her  father's  home,  observed  of 
all,  and  charming  all  with  her  youthful  and  radiant  beauty,  her 
dignity,  her  gentle  courtesy.  A  few  minutes  before  he  had  been 
up  in  his  friend's  dressing-room,  chatting  to  him,  watching  the 
buckling  on  of  his  rapier,  and  thinking  mostly  about  the  Monks 
of  St.  Giles ;  but  he  forgot  all  about  that,  too  ;  surely  this  was  the 
real  Romeo — the  lovelorn,  ill-fated  youth — here  in  this  ballroom 
— in  Verona — whose  vibrant  voice  now  thrilled  through  the  half- 
silenced  music : 

"  0  !  she  doth  teach  the  torches  to  burn  bright. 
It  seems  she  hangs  upon  the  cheek  of  night 
Like  a  rich  jewel  in  an  Ethiop's  ear; 
Beauty  too  rich  for  use,  for  earth  too  dear !" 

But  this  was  only  the  beginning  of  his  bewilderment ;  for  by-and- 
by,  when  the  minuet  was  over,  the  Lady  Juliet  was  free  to  move 
among  her  father's  bidden  guests,  bestowing  here  and  there  a  gra- 


IN  NEW  YORK.  239 

cious  word  or  smile ;  and  to  his  amazement  he  found  she  was  ap- 
proaching him. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Lindsay,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  you  need  not 
be  afraid.  No  one  can  recognize  you.  Jack  told  me  who  you 
were." 

"  But  I  am  afraid — horribly  afraid,"  he  said. 

"Of  what?" 

"  Of  getting  in  the  way,  or  doing  something  wrong — " 

"  No,  no,"  she  said ;  and  then  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  gentle 
malice, "  Won't  you  walk  down  the  stage  with  me  ?  Will  you 
give  me  your  arm  V 

*'  Oh  no,  thank  you,  I'd  rather  not,"  was  the  instant  and  anx- 
ious answer.     "  I  feel  safe  where  I  am,  thank  you  very  much." 

And  surely  this  was  the  strangest  and  most  dazzling  and  puz- 
zling scene  that  any  human  being  ever  found  himself  in,  whether 
in  Verona,  or  New  York,  or  anywhere  else.  Here  is  what  his  dis- 
tracted ears  were  listening  to — including  his  own  voice;  while 
his  eyes  would  keep  wandering  from  the  Lady  Juliet  to  her  watch- 
ful cousin  and  her  more  magnanimous  father: 

"  Tybalt.  Now,  by  the  stock  and  honor  of  my  kin, 
To  strike  him  dead  I  hold  it  not  a  sin. 

Capulet.  Wiiy,  how  now,  kinsman  ?  wherefore  storm  you  so  ? 
Tybalt.  Uncle,  this  is  a  Montague,  our  foe ; 
A  villain,  that  is  hither  come  in  spite, 
To  scorn  at  our  solemnity  this  night." 

The  Lady  Juliet.  "  Surely,  Mr.  Lindsay,  you  do  not  think  that 
any  one  can  recognize  you  ?" 

Walter  Lindsay.  "  Not  hitherto ;  but  now  all  their  opera- 
glasses  are  levelled  at  you;  and  supposing  I  were  to  drop  my 
mask  by  accident,  what  then  ?" 

"  Tybalt.  It  fits,  when  such  a  villain  is  a  guest. 
I'll  not  endure  him. 

Capulet.  lie  shall  be  endur'd  : 

What !  goodman  boy ! — I  say,  he  shall ; — go  to — " 

The  Lady  Juliet.  "  I  hear  you  arc  going  to  take  Jack  to  some 
club  to-night.     Don't  let  him  sit  up  too  late." 

Walter  Lindsay.  "  Oh,  I  will  look  after  him.  But  he  doesn't 
need  looking  after.     Your  brother  Jack  is  a  very  good  boy." 


240  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

"Tybalt.  Why, uncle, 'tis  a  shame. 
Capulet.  Go  to,  go  to." 

The  Lady  Juliet.  "  "Well,  I  will  say  good-night  now,  Mr. 
Lindsay,  for  I  sba'n't  see  you  again  this  evening.  I  don't  like 
seeing  people  after  playing  '  Juliet.'     Good-night !" 

AValter  Lindsay  (remembering  his  part,  and  bowing  gravely). 
"  Addio,  signorina." 

On  the  whole,  however,  he  was  more  content  when  the  slow 
procession  filed  off  the  stage,  and  when  they  found  for  him  a  cor- 
ner from  which  he  could  look  on  at  the  ever  beautiful  balcony 
scene.  And  even  here,  standing  in  the  "  wings,"  among  gasmen 
and  carpenters  and  scene-shifters,  it  was  still  that  magic  night  in 
Verona  that  was  all  around  him  ;  and  it  was  not  the  young  lady 
he  had  met  in  New  York  society  that  he  saw  before  him  ;  but 
Juliet  her  very  self,  in  all  her  impassionate  tenderness,  now  startled 
and  coy  and  timid,  now  generously  confiding  and  bountiful  in  her 
love,  and  in  her  maiden  charms 

"  More  beautiful  than  whom  Alcaeus  wooed, 
The  Lesbian  woman  of  immortal  song !" 

Nay,  so  much  was  he  impressed  with  the  reality  of  the  scene,  that 
when  Romeo,  having  uttered  his  last  farewell,  came  out  of  that 
moonlit  garden,  Lindsay,  from  some  kind  of  delicacy,  let  him  go 
by  without  speaking,  and  did  not  follow  him  to  his  dressing-room. 
On  the  contrary,  he  merely  sent  him  a  message  to  say  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  stay  the  performance  out,  but  would  come  back  for 
those  two  when  it  was  over ;  and  then  he  wandered  forth  into  the 
busy  streets  of  New  York.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  rather  wanted  to 
make  this  a  frolicsome  night ;  and  even  a  winter  in  the  Adiron- 
dacks  had  not  wholly  hardened  up  the  sensitiveness  of  his  artist's 
temperament ;  very  well  he  knew  that  the  tragic  spectacle  of  Juli- 
et's unnumbered  woes  was  not  the  best  beginning  for  a  merry 
evening. 

And  indeed,  as  it  turned  out,  this  midnight  meeting  of  the 
Monks  proved  to  be  a  very  gay  affair  when  each  had  donned  his 
cloak  and  hood  of  sober  gray,  and  taken  his  place  at  the  sumptu- 
ously furnished  table.  At  first  there  was  no  kind  of  order  in  the 
proceedings;  the  business  of  supper  had- to  be  got  through  with; 
quips  and  jests  and  anecdotes  of  more  or  less  doubtful  veracity 
were  bandied  about  anyhow ;  and,  as  the  wine  flowed,  there  was 


IN   NEW    YOEK.  241 

abundant  laughter  found  for  even  a  fisli  story.  But  when  the 
supper-things  had  been  removed  and  cigars  lit,  the  president  from 
time  to  time  tinkled  his  bell  for  silence;  and  in  the  pauses  those 
who  were  able  and  willing  joined  in  this  or  that  old  English  glee 
— "Dame  Durden,"  "Calm  be  thy  Slumbers,"  "Ye  Spotted 
Snakes,"  "  Here  in  Cool  Grot,"  and  so  forth.  Likewise  there 
were  many  nigger  choruses,  one  especially  being  a  favorite ;  for 
as  each  Monk  had  to  improvise  a  verse — no  matter  what — there 
was  abundant  occasion  for  all  kinds  of  personalities,  the  sting  of 
which,  of  course,  disappeared,  or  was  drowned,  rather,  in  the  uni- 
versal chorus  of  "  Balm  of  Gilead,  Gilead  1"  It  was  a  very  care- 
less and  merry  gathering;  but  the  climax  of  these  festivities  was 
neither  careless  nor  merry.  At  a  quarter  to  two  the  lights  were 
lowered.  Each  Monk  drew  forward  his  cowl,  and  sate  with  down- 
cast head.  And  then,  in  the  hushed  silence,  a  powerful  barytone 
began  to  sing — slowly  and  with  clear  enunciation — that  grimmest 
and  weirdest  of  all  the  Scotch  ballads,  "The  Twa  Corbies,"  while 
after  each  couplet  the  whole  of  the  company  took  up  the  fantastic 
and  mournful  refrain.  It  was  the  old  air,  which  is  curiously  pathetic 
in  its  simplicit}',  that  was  sung;  and  scarcely  less  grewsome  than 
the  words  themselves — 

"And  nae  ane  kens  that  lie  lies  there 
But  his  hawk  and  his  hound  and  his  lady  fair," 

was  the  slow-chanted  burden  that  followed — 

"  Witli  a  fal,  lal  lal,  lal  lal,  lal  lay. 
With  a  fal,  hil  lal,  lal  lay." 

And  then,  when  the  tragic  story  was  ended — 

"  Mony's  the  ane  for  him  makes  mane, 
But  nane  shall  ken  wiiere  he  is  gane ; 
Owrc  his  white  banes,  when  they  are  bare, 
The  wind  shall  blaw  forever  mair." 

And  when  the  last  deep-sounding,  mournful  notes, 

"  With  a  fal,  lal  lal,  lal  lal,  lal  lay, 
With  a  fal,  lal  lal,  lal  lay  " 

had   died  into  silence,  they  rose  from  the  table,  the  lights  were 
turned  up,  cloaks  and  hoods  put  aside,  and — somewhat  sobered 
by  this  mystic  rite — the  Monks  were  free  to  go  their  several  ways 
home. 
11 


242  SABINA    ZEMBKA. 

"Walter  Lindsay,  however,  had  rooms  in  this  same  hotel ;  and 
so,  Avhen  the  last  of  his  friends  had  gone,  he  retired  thither,  drew 
in  a  chair  to  the  fire  that  was  still  burning,  and  took  from  his 
pocket  a  letter.  It  had  come  that  morning ;  it  was  from  Janie ; 
and  although  there  was  a  good  deal  in  it  about  her  husband  and 
their  travels  in  Italy,  the  bulk  of  it  (as  of  yore)  was  all  about 
Sabina;  and  this  was  what  he  wanted  to  read  over  again,  in  seclu- 
sion and  peace. 

"  Sometimes  we  were  amused,  sometimes  we  were  a  little 
ashamed  of  ourselves,"  the  ever -faithful  Janie  wrote,  "  to  find 
how  often  the  same  idea  was  in  our  head  in  going  through  those 
picture-galleries.  When  we  went  into  a  new  room  we  almost  in- 
variably made  first  for  the  most  prominent  Madonna  subject. 
Philip  would  stand  looking  at  it  for  some  time.  '  Very  curious; 
none  of  them  quite  seem  to  have  her  expression.  There's  some- 
thing about  those  eyebrows  a  little  like.'  Then  I  (in  sweet  sim- 
plicity), '  But  wlio  is  it  you  are  thinking  of,  Phil?  'Oh,  you 
know  well  enough.  As  if  your  beloved  Sabie  was  ever  for  a  mo- 
ment out  of  your  head !  And  of  course  I've  got  to  think  of  her 
sometimes — so  as  not  to  feel  lonely;  you  can't  always  be  wan- 
dering away  by  yourself.'  But  really  it  was  he  who  began  it, 
even  before  we  were  married,  for  he  took  me  to  the  National  Gal- 
lery, and  we  went  over  all  the  Madonnas  carefully,  but  not  one 
would  do.  This  one  was  too  cold  and  wooden,  the  other  simper- 
ing, and  so  forth.  Nor  did  we  get  on  any  better  abroad.  There's 
one  in  the  Louvre,  the  '  Vierge  Aux  Rochers,'  that  has  something 
of  the  calm  look  of  Sable's  forehead ;  but  her  hair  is  more  crim- 
pled  than  Sable's;  and  then  you  remember  there  is  always  a  lit- 
tle trickiness  in  the  smile  of  that  woman  that  Leonardo  used  to 
paint.  The  most  beautiful  one  we  saw, 'The  Assumption,' in 
Venice — yes,  that  was  very  beautiful — but  it  was  quite  different 
from  Sabie.  She  is  so  much  more  human,  to  my  fancy,  and  looks 
at  you  so  straight.  But  if  we  failed  before,  you  may  imagine 
whether  we  are  likely  to  succeed  now,  Phil  and  I  went  down 
the  other  day.  Dear  friend,  I  wish  you  could  see  her,  if  but  for 
a  moment.  There  is  a  look  in  her  face  that  was  never  there  be- 
fore, even  in  the  old  days  when  she  was  at  her  happiest.  I  think 
she  had  quite  given  herself  over  to  despair — though  she  would 
never  complain — and  I  never  wrote  much  to  you  about  it,  for  I 
had  not  the  heart  to  do  so ;  but  now  that  she  finds  there  is  some 


IN   NEW    YORK.  243 

consolation  for  her,  and  some  call  for  her  love  and  sympathy,  and 
a  constant  interest  in  her  lonely  life,  she  seems  overcome  with  a 
kind  of  wondering  gratitude.  If  you  could  only  see  her  stoop- 
ing over  the  little  bed  where  the  child  lies,  and  see  the  happiness 
in  her  face,  and  her  delight  in  showing  you  all  the  little  bits  of 
finery  and  lace  that  she  has  made  with  her  own  fingers,  you  would 
understand  how  deeply,  deeply  thankful  we  all  are  that  some- 
thing has  happened  to  make  her  life  a  little  more  bearable.  Poor 
Sabie !  Who  could  ever  have  thought  that  this  would  be  the 
end — living  almost  alone  in  a  cottage  away  from  all  her  friends. 
But  in  spite  of  all  her  shrewdness  and  high  spirits,  she  was  al- 
ways romantically  generous;  it  was  invariably  'Give,  give'  with 
her;  and  so,  to  make  up  for  a  trumpery  accident,  she  gave  her- 
self! That's  what  I  call  it;  and  many  a  time  my  heart  was  very 
sore  about  it  when  I  saw  the  result,  though  I  did  not  tell  you 
everything;  but  now  I  am  glad  to  write  and  say  that  she  is  a 
little  happier.  She  laughed  once  or  twice  the  last  time  we  were 
there — it's  such  a  long  time  since  I  heard  our  poor  Sabie  laugh. 
When  Baby  gets  a  little  older,  Phil  is  going  to  ask  a  friend  of 
his,  who  is  a  very  skilled  photographer,  to  go  down  and  take  a 
group  of  mother  and  child;  and  if  it  turns  out  well,  be  sure  you 
will  have  a  copy  if  you  care  to  have  it ;  and  as  for  me  I  know 
I  shall  far  and  away  prefer  it  to  any  of  the  Madonnas  we  saw 
abroad. 

"  We  keep  the  house  and  studio  as  neat  and  pretty  as  we  can, 
and  occasionally  have  a  few  friends ;  and  often  enough,  when  I 
see  them  seated  at  the  table,  I  think  of  the  night  that  Sabie  came 
to  your  supper-party,  and  looked  so  pretty  as  she  sate  next  to  you. 
I  wonder  if  you  remember  the  Indian  silk  dress,  and  the  fichu  of 
yellow  lace,  and  the  forget-me-nots!  Poor  Sabie,  there  are  no 
more  of  such  nights  for  her  now." 

That  was  all  that  Janie  had  to  report  at  present.  And  if  it 
never  occurred  to  her  that  she  was  doing  a  remarkably  ingenuous 
thing  in  writing  out  to  Walter  Lindsay  to  inform  him  that  Mr. 
Fred  Foster  had  been  presented  with  a  son — well,  that  did  not 
occur  to  Lindsay  either.  It  was  as  Sable's  child  that  both  of 
thcin  regarded  this  new-comer.  Janie  rejoiced  to  see  that  at  last 
some  measure  of  happiness  had  been  meted  out  to  one  whose  life 
had  of  late  been  loveless  enough ;  Lindsay  wondering  in  a  vague 
sort  of  way  whether  Sabina  had  ever  heard  of  the  pet  name  that 


244  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

the  Highland  mother  has  for  her  infant — "  the  lamb  of  my  heart." 
But  his  tlioiights  and  fancies  went  far  further  afield.  During 
those  solitary  months  in  the  Adirondacks  lie  had  been  a  good 
deal  given  to  looking  into  the  future,  with  no  kind  of  despair  or 
discontent  whatever,  but  I'ather  with  a  curious  apathy.  The  long, 
forth-coming  years  looked  empty  somehow,  and  not  very  interest- 
ing; that  was  all.  But  with  this  letter  of  Janie's  lying  on  \iip, 
knee — and  as  he  sate  far  into  the  morning,  with  the  fire  in  the 
grate  slowly  dwindling  down — other  pictures  began  to  form  them- 
selves. Strangely  enough,  neither  Fred  Foster  nor  Sabina  was 
there ;  he  had  forgotten  them ;  he  did  not  see  them.  But  he 
saw  a  young  lad,  tall  for  his  age,  and  fair,  with  clear  brown  eyes, 
and  a  bright  and  gracious  smile,  and  he  saw  himself,  grave  and  griz- 
zled and  elderly,  and  yet  half  admiring  the  lad's  audacity  and  fool- 
ish opinions,  walking  bj^  his  side.  This  was  in  Galloway.  They 
had  fishing-rods  in  their  hands.  And  if  the  tall,  proud-featured, 
but  gentle -lipped  youth  had  been  talking  wilful  perversity  in 
politics,  now  he  was  all  grave  submission  as  his  elderly  compan- 
ion began  to  select  flies  for  him  and  show  him  where  were  the 
likely  casts  in  the  stream.  And  not  in  Galloway  alone  (though 
the  boy  would  know  that  he  was  heir  to  a  little  estate  in  that 
county).  Might  not  Mentor  and  Telemachus — always  with  their 
rods  and  fly-books  accompanying  them — enjoy  many  devious  and 
distant  wanderings,  with  lunch  on  the  loch-side  or  the  river-bank, 
and  evenings  before  the  fire  in  the  cosey  room  of  the  inn  ? 

"Nay,  Spring  I'd  meet  by  Tweed  or  Ail, 
And  Summer  by  Loch  Assynt's  deep, 
And  Autumn  in  that  lonely  vale 
Where  wedded  Avons  westward  sweep. 

"  Or  where,  amid  the  empty  fields. 
Among  the  bracken  of  the  glen, 
Her  yellow  wreath  October  yields, 
To  crown  the  crystal  brows  of  Ken." 

The  elder  of  these  two  inseparable  companions — whom  he  saw 
in  those  visionary  pictures — was  himself.  And  the  other  ?  Well, 
the  lad  had  Sabina's  eyes. 


AN   AMBASSADOR.  245 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

AN  AMBASSADOR. 

Mr.  Fred  Foster  was  going  down  home  by  the  ten-o'clock 
train  from  Waterloo,  and  he  had  for  companion  a  big,  heavy,  red- 
faced,  good-natured -looking  man,  who  seemed  in  much  better 
spirits  than  his  neighbor. 

"  No,  no,  Freddie,  take  my  advice  and  never  back  yourself  at 
billiards  unless  you're  ahead,  and  in  fairly  good  luck.  You  can't 
play  a  losing  game  a  bit ;  and  bad  luck  drives  you  wild.  Why, 
man,  you  can't  ram  the  balls  into  the  pockets  if  they  won't  go. 
Temper  won't  do  it,  my  lad." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  get  out  of  temper  if  you  were 
playing  with  a  cad  like  that?"  was  the  retort.  "  I  never  saw  such 
a  sneak  in  all  my  life.  His  sole  notion  of  the  game  was  to  pot 
the  white  and  get  double  balk." 

*'  When  a  man  thinks  he's  going  to  land  a  tidy  little  twenty- 
five  pounds,  he  doesn't  play  to  the  gallery,"  observed  Mr.  John 
Scott,  sententiously.  "  Well,  well,  old  man,  cheer  up.  It  will  be 
a  lesson  to  you.  You  know  you  were  just  a  little  bit  too  eager 
to  touch  that  young  man's  chinks.  A  pony  to  a  fiver,  and  thirty- 
five  points  in  two  hundred,  that's  not  good  biz.  That's  not  bill- 
iard-betting at  all,  unless  you  were  to  bar  flakes.  In  a  nomina- 
tion game  it  might  do ;  but  with  all  the  chances  of  luck  against 
you,  I'd  be  awful  sure  of  my  play  before  I  backed  myself  at  five 
to  one." 

"The  sneak  wouldn't  bet  at  all  without  ridiculous  odds — that's 
what  it  was,"  Foster  said,  rather  morosely.  "  And  if  he  had 
played  a  fair  game,  I  should  have  won  easily.  Why,  I'd  lay  him 
£100  to  £10  to-morrow,  and  give  him  200  in  1000 — to-mono w 
morning  I'd  do  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  dryly,  "  but  I  think  he  has  had  cnouo;h. 
I  think  he  will  be  quite  content  when  he  has  got  that  twenty-five 
pounds  in  his  trousers-pocket." 

"lie  hasn't  got  it  there  yet,  then,"  Foster  said,  gloomily, "and 


246  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

I  don't  see  how  he  is  to  get  it  just  at  present.  My  luck  for  the 
last  four  months  has  just  been  awful.  It  was  the  scratching  of 
Theology  for  the  Liverpool  Cup  that  begun  it — the  most  infer- 
nal swindle  ever  done  on  the  turf  that  was — I  am  certain  of  it — a 
deliberate  swindle  ;  well,  ever  since  that,  every  mortal  thing  has 
gone  against  me — every  mortal  thing.  I  seem  to  Jonah  every- 
thing I  touch." 

"  Take  my  advice  and  keep  your  noddle  cool,  then,"  Mr.  Scott 
said,  pleasantly.  "  I  know  you,  Fred,  my  lad.  When  they  get 
you  in  a  corner,  you  are  inclined  to  put  down  your  head  and  butt. 
But  that's  not  the  way  to  play  the  great  game.  No,  no,  keep  cool 
and  bide  your  chance." 

"  There's  an  awful  amount  of  advice  about  this  evening,"  Fos- 
ter was  goaded  into  saying.  "  Very  kind  of  you,  I  am  sure,  Mr. 
Scott.  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  also  lending  me  a  pony  for  a 
week  or  two,  to  settle  up  with  that  sneak  ?" 

The  suggestion  was  merely  a  bit  of  sarcasm,  but  Mr.  Scott  took 
it  blandly  enough. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  gentle  remonstrance, 
'*  didn't  I  tell  you  what  they  did  to  me  at  Shrewsbury  ?  If  King 
of  Tralee  hadn't  pulled  off  the  Shropshire  Handicap  I  should  have 
had  to  come  home  on  shanks'  mare." 

Mr.  Scott  left  the  train  at  Epsom  ;  Foster  went  on  to  Witstead. 
At  the  little  station  only  one  other  passenger  got  out — a  gentle- 
man of  the  neighborhood,  who  jauntily  stepped  into  his  comfort- 
ably-lit brougham,  and  was  rapidly  driven  away,  leaving  his  fellow- 
traveller  to  find  his  way  home  on  foot.  The  night  was  pitch-dark, 
the  air  thick  with  a  cold  raw  drizzle,  the  roads  heavy  with  mire; 
and  as  Fred  Foster  had  to  exercise  the  utmost  caution  to  prevent 
his  stumbling  into  the  ditch,  his  reflections  were  none  of  the  niost 
genial  kind. 

"  Sir  Anthony  Zembra  at  the  Mansion  House — great  oration — 
generous  appeal — check  for  five  hundred  guineas — cheers.  Sir 
Anthony  Zembra  entertains  Prime-minister  at  Waldegrave  Club 
— proceedings  strictly  private.  Sir  Anthony  Zembra  arrived  at 
the  Castle,  and  had  the  honor  of  dining,  etc.  Yes;  and  Sir  An- 
thony Zembra's  son-in-law  finds  himself  slouching  along  a  muddy 
country  lane,  like  a  tramp  in  search  of  a  night's  lodging,  with 
precious  little  prospect  of  supper  before  him." 

Nor  were  his  meditations  much  enlivened  by  the  appearance  of 


AN    AMBASSADOR.  247 

Wayside  Cottage  ■when  eventually  he  arrived  there.  All  the  lower 
windows  were  dark.  In  one  of  the  upper  windows  there  was  the 
faintest  yellow  tinge,  probably  a  night-light  was  burning  in  the 
room.  So  he  knocked  and  rang,  knocked  and  rang,  until  a  sharp- 
er light  appeared  there ;  and  then  he  waited ;  and  by-and-by  Sa- 
bina  herself,  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  large  shawl,  and 
bearing  a  candle  in  her  hand,  opened  the  door  for  him, 

"  What  is  the  use  of  going  to  bed  in  the  middle  of  the  day  ?" 
be  asked,  surlily,  as  he  entered. 

"  It  is  past  eleven,"  was  the  mild  answer;  "  but  I  would  have 
waited  up  any  time  if  I  had  known  you  were  coming." 

"  Fire  out,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  as  he  preceded  her  into  the  lit- 
tle dining-room. 

Unmistakably  it  was  out. 

She  lit  the  two  lamps  on  the  sideboard,  and  said  she  was  sorry 
she  had  not  known  he  was  coming;  but  would  she  get  him  some 
supper?     She  could  easily  do  that  without  waking  the  girl. 

"  Has  that  check  come  down  to-day  f  he  asked. 

"  No  ;  it  is  only  due  to-day  ;  I  suppose  it  will  come  to-morrow," 
she  answered ;  and  then  she  added,  rather  piteously,  "  But,  Fred, 
surely  you  do  not  want  any  of  that  money  !" 

For  she  owed  some  small  sums  in  Epsom.  But  that  was  not 
all.  The  baby  was  now  old  enough  to  be  promoted  from  a  cradle 
to  a  cot;  and  she  had  seen  a  very  neat-looking  one  in  Epsom; 
and  she  had  looked  forward  to  the  patient  adornment  of  it  by  her 
own  hands  as  a  welcome  labor  of  love  in  the  slow  hours.  Nay, 
she  Iiad  even  procured  the  materials  for  the  purpose;  and  had 
foreshadowed  the  most  cunning  little  elegancies;  and  had  de- 
signed, in  Old  English  letters,  a  scroll  to  hang  at  the  head  of  it — 

"  Gute  Nacht,  (In  siixsrs  Kind, 
Mor/cii  Eii(/cl  click  bchiitcn, 
Und  der  Schlimimcr  Icin  mul  lind, 
Streue  dir  die  schijnstcn  JJtiilhcn." 

And  she  had  promised  herself  the  happiness  of  purchasing  this 
cot  as  soon  as  the  check  from  her  father  arrived  ;  it  was  an  extrav- 
agance, she  knew  ;  but  she  had  set  her  heart  on  it. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  want  some  of  it !"  lie  said,  sharply.  "  t 
wish  you  knew  the  straits  I  am  in.  I  suppose  you  wouldn't 
n)ind  if  I  were  locked  up  in  Ilolloway  Jail  ?" 


248  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

"  Oh,  Fred,  don't  talk  that  way,"  she  entreated.  "  Don't  let 
VIS  quarrel  about  nothing.  See,  there  is  a  letter  on  the  mantle- 
piece — from  Buckinghamshire — there  is  bad  news — your  mother 
is  not  well." 

This  brought  him  to  his  senses  in  an  instant. 

*'  It  came  four  days  ago,"  she  said,  as  he  went  to  the  fireplace. 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  send  it  to  me  ?" 

*'  You  know  I  hadn't  your  address,"  she  said — but  by  this  time 
he  was  wholly  engrossed  with  tlie  contents  of  the  letter. 

It  was  written  by  old  Mr.  Foster;  and  the  animus  of  the  old 
gentleman  against  his  son  was  clearly  shown  by  the  fact  that  the 
latter  was  not  mentioned  or  referred  to  in  any  way  whatsoever. 
It  was  their  prayer  that  Sabina  and  her  child  should  live  with  the 
old  people,  who  would  do  everything  in  their  power  to  make  her 
comfortable.  The  entreaty  was  sent  at  the  earnest  request  of  Mrs. 
Foster,  who  could  not  herself  write  just  then,  as  she  was  ill  and  in 
bed.  The  long-continued  cold  and  wet  had  affected  her  general 
health  ;  a  bad  cough  had  supervened  on  that ;  and  it  was  feared 
her  lungs  were  more  or  less  affected.  Still,  no  immediate  alarm 
was  felt ;  only  the  old  lady  seemed  anxiously  to  wish  to  know 
that  her  daughter  was  near  her,  as  she  said ;  and  she  sent  many 
and  many  kindly  messages.  Finally,  would  Sabina  at  once  send  a 
telegram  in  reply  ?  It  would  give  Mrs.  Foster  great  pleasure  to 
hear  that  she  was  coming,  and  they  would  begin  to  make  prepa- 
rations to  receive  her. 

"  Of  course  it's  impossible,"  Fred  Foster  rather  impatiently 
said.  "  I'm  not  going  to  live  down  there — unless  the  writters 
make  it  too  hot  for  me  to  live  anywhere  else." 

And  then  he  said  more  gently, 

"  I  should  like  to  run  down  and  see  how  the  Mater  is,  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  expense." 

"  Oh,  Fred  !"  Sabina  said,  "  why  should  that  hinder  you  ?  The 
money  will  be  here  to-morrow — by  the  mid-day  post  at  latest. 
Of  course  you  must  go  and  see  your  mother." 

"No,"  he  said,  somewhat  sulkily.  "No,  I  don't  want  any  of 
that  money.     I  can  do  without  it.     You  keep  it." 

"  But  really  I  can  do  without  the  whole  of  it,"  Sabina  said — 
for  she  was  a  generous-hearted  kind  of  creature.  "  lieally  I  can. 
I  have  a  few  bills  to  pay ;  and  then  I  thought  of  buying  Baby  a 
cot—" 


AN    AMBASSADOR.  249 

"  Why  ?  Isn't  the  cradle  good  enough  ?"  he  said,  turning  to 
her. 

"They  say  a  cot  is  healthier.  But  Baby  can  wait,"  Sabina 
said,  cheerfully.  "  There's  not  much  the  matter  with  his  health, 
the  dear." 

"  Well,  go  to  your  bed  now.  I'm  going  to  smoke  a  pipe — and 
consider  the  best  way  of  keeping  out  of  jail." 

So  Sabina  went  away,  sincerely  hoping  that  he  would  go  down 
to  Missenden  on  the  morrow ;  for  he  was  always  more  considerate 
to  her,  and  more  reasonable,  and  a  little  less  selfish,  when  he  had 
been  even  for  the  briefest  space  under  his  mother's  roof. 

But  next  morning  his  mood  had  changed — as  frequently  hap- 
pened with  him. 

"The  old  man  has  been  pitching  it  strong  about  the  Mater's 
health,"  he  said,  "  in  order  to  get  you  to  promise  to  go  down. 
Oh,  I  know  his  games.  He  has  done  that  before  with  me.  I 
should  like  to  hear  more  definite  news  before  going  away  down 
there,  and  spending  money  on  a  wild-goose  chase.  By-the-way, 
I  think  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  for  a  fiver  out  of  that  check  if  it 
comes  to-day." 

"  Very  well,  Fred."  And  then  she  said,  "Just  look  at  Baby; 
I  think  he's  going  to  be  an  artist.  It  is  quite  extraordinary  the 
fascination  that  anything  with  colors  on  it  has  for  him.  From 
the  very  first  he  wouldn't  look  at  the  silver  mug  that  Janie  gave 
him  ;  but  that  one  is  his  favorite  plaything.  Fancy  Mr.  Lindsay 
taking  all  the  trouble  to  have  that  made  in  America  and  sent 
over." 

"  If  you  had  any  common-sense,  you  would  lock  it  away  in  a 
drawer,"  he  said,  briefly.  "  A  pretty  catch  for  a  thief,  that,  with 
all  those  stones." 

The  check  did  not  come  by  the  first  post,  so  he  had  to  kick  his 
heels  about  the  house  waiting  for  the  second.  On  one  occasion, 
when  Sabina  came  into  the  room,  she  found  him  reading  over 
again  the  letter  she  had  shown  him  the  previous  night.  He 
threw  it  on  to  the  table  contemptuously. 

"  It's  pretty  clever,"  he  said. 

"  What  is  ?" 

"The  proposal  that  you  should  go  down  and  live  at  Missenden. 
Very  ingenious  that  is ;  quite  worthy  of  the  old  boy." 

"  But  I  don't  understand,  Fred." 
11* 


250  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"They  get  you  down  there ;  and  expect  me  to  go  too.  Either 
I  do  or  I  don't.  If  I  don't — as  I  certainly  shouldn't — he  cuts  off 
my  allowance;  that's  what  he's  after;  and  there's  so  much  saved. 
But  if  I  were  to  go,  then  we  should  only  cost  them  what  we  ate 
and  drank  in  the  house — cheap,  you  know." 

"Oh,  Fred,  why  should  you  look  at  it  like  that!"  Sabina  pro- 
tested. "  Isn't  it  natural  they  should  wish  us  to  go  and  live  with 
them — especially  if  your  mother  is  not  well,  and  perhaps  a  little 
anxious  and  fretting.     Anyway,  what  am  I  to  telegraph  ?" 

*'  What  is  the  use  of  telegraphing  ?"  he  said.  "  Write  and  say 
it  is  impossible." 

However,  neither  letter  nor  telegram  was  necessary.  Scarcely 
had  Sabina  left  the  room  when  Fred  Foster  heard  some  one  at 
the  little  gate  outside,  and,  turning,  saw  to  his  quick  alarm  that  it 
was  his  father.     Instantly  he  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"  How  is  mother  ?"  he  asked,  breathlessly. 

The  old  gentleman,  at  least,  was  in  no  hurry.  He  even  seemed 
unwilling  to  speak  to  his  son. 

"  She  is  just  about  the  same,"  he  said,  coldly,  as  he  passed  into 
the  hall.     "  I  suppose  Sabina  is  at  home  ?" 

"  Yes,  I'll  fetch  her." 

The  old  man  went  into  the  dining-room,  put  his  umbrella  in  a 
corner  and  his  wide-awake  on  the  table,  but  he  kept  on  his  Inver- 
ness cape  when  he  sate  down.  He  was  looking  around  him  with 
no  very  amiable  expression ;  perhaps  he  had  not  expected  to  find 
his  son  at  home.  However,  his  face  brightened  a  little  when 
Sabina  came  into  the  room,  and  he  gave  her  some  more  definite 
particulars  about  Mrs.  Foster's  condition. 

"You  got  my  letter?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,  but  I  could  not  telegraph  until  Fred  came  home." 

"  Oh,  he  has  been  away — that  was  it,"  the  old  man  said.  "  I 
thought  it  strange.  And — and  as  I  had  some  business  with  my 
lawyers  in  London,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  as  well  run 
down  and  take  back  the  answer  myself." 

It  was  a  pretty  lame  excuse  for  this  sudden  and  unannounced 
visit,  the  real  object  of  which  was  obvious  enough. 

"  Well,  and  how  long  does  your  husband  propose  to  continue 
this  folly  ?"  he  asked,  looking  round  the  room. 

"  If  you  mean  living  in  this  house,"  said  Fred  Foster,  with 
a   levity    which    was    dangerously   ill-timed,   "I   assure    you    I 


AN   AMBASSADOK.  251 

couldn't  get  a  cheaper  one  anywhere,  for  I  haven't  paid  a  far- 
thing for  it." 

"  Then  you  owe  money  for  it — that  you  expect  me  to  pay  ?" 
the  old  man  said,  turning  sharply  to  his  son;  and  Sabina,  fearino' 
what  might  ensue,  thought  she  could  not  do  better  than  fly  away 
quickly  and  get  Baby  made  presentable,  and  bring  him  down  to 
act  as  peace-maker. 

Indeed,  she  had  not  been  many  minutes  in  the  room,  her 
fingers  as  busy  as  ever  they  could  with  the  adornment  of  her 
precious  charge,  when  she  could  hear  pretty  plainly  that  there 
was  a  battle  royal  r.iging  below.  Now  there  was  no  gentle-eyed 
mother  to  interpose  between  these  two;  and  it  was  clear  from 
the  beginning  that  the  old  man  had  come  down  in  a  suspicious 
and  resentful  mood  against  his  son.  Moreover,  she  guessed  that 
the  father  must  have  thrown  out  some  unusually  bitter  taunts, 
for  it  was  not  customary  with  Fred  Foster  to  get  angry.  lie  was 
too  selfish  and  indifferent  for  that.  He  could  sulk  ;  but  ordina- 
rily he  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  storm.  And  when  at  last 
she  was  enabled  to  hurry  down-stairs — the  voices  ceased  as  she 
opened  the  door — it  was  clear  that  Fred  Foster  no  longer  wore 
any  mask  of  levity  ;  he  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  win- 
dow; but  even  with  his  face  in  shadow,  her  swift  glance  told  her 
he  was  scowling,  angry,  and  tight-lipped. 

She  drew  in  a  chair  close  to  the  old  man,  so  that  the  wonderful 
Baby  might  be  properly  admired. 

"Isn't  he  growing  a  big  boy  ?"  she  said,  proudly. 

"I  have  a  little  present  for  him  from  his  grandmother,"  Mr. 
Foster  said,  and  he  took  out  from  his  purse  a  carefully  folded  ten- 
pound  bank-note.  "  This  is  to  go  into  the  Post-office  Savings- 
bank  in  his  own  name,  she  says,  and  you  are  to  add  a  little  when 
you  can ;  and  then  when  he  grows  up  a  bit  he  will  be  able  to 
buy  himself  a  pony." 

Of  course,  Sabina  thanked  the  old  gentleman,  and  made  be- 
lieve that  Baby  understood  all  that  was  being  arranged  for  hira, 
and  was,  indeed,  quite  an  interested  party, 

"  Do  you  remember,  perhaps,"  Mr.  Foster  continued,  and  he 
looked  at  his  daughter-in-law  with  a  little  hesitation,  "the  cor- 
ner room  at  the  end  of  the  passage  —  overlooking  the  green- 
houses ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  perfectly,"  she  answered. 


262  SABINA   ZEMBKA. 

"We  were  thinking — my  wife  was  thinking — that  might  do 
for  a  nursery — if  you  were  coming  to  live  with  us." 

"  Yes  ?"  Sabina  said  :  what  more  could  she  say  ? 

The  old  man  paused  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  What  answer  am  I  to  take  back  ?"  he  asked.  "  May  I  say 
that  we  are  to  expect  you  ?" 

Sabina  involuntarily  turned  to  her  husband. 

"  Oh,  you  may  do  as  you  like,"  Fred  Foster  said,  curtly.  **  I'm 
not  going  to  live  in  Missenden.     I  can't  afford  it." 

"  You  can't  afford  it — but  you  can  afford  to  keep  up  this  sepa- 
rate house !"  the  old  man  retorted;  but  he  would  say  no  more; 
Sabina  was  there. 

He  turned  to  hei\ 

"  What  do  you  say,  my  dear?"  he  asked,  very  gently. 

"  I  am  sure  Fred  would  like  to  go  and  see  his  mother — will 
you  tell  her  that  he  will  come  and  see  her?"  Sabina  said,  tim- 
idly. 

"  But  that  is  not  it,"  the  old  man  said,  plainly.  "  Surely  you 
must  understand  that  it  is  for  your  own  sake  as  much  as  for  ours 
that  we  want  to  see  you  settled  down  into  a  quiet,  respectable 
life.  We  offer  you  a  home.  We  will  do  our  best  to  make  you 
comfortable.  If  the  ways  of  the  house  don't  suit  you,  we  will 
alter  them.  I  don't  think  you  will  find  us  unkind  or  inconsid- 
erate. I  dare  say  my  wife  would  say  more  to  you,  but  you  see 
she  is  ill,  and  cannot  come  to  ask  you  herself;  and  what  I  have 
said  is  perhaps  badly  said — only  I  would  rather  see  my  daughter- 
in-law  in  a  settled  home  than  moving  from  place  to  place  in 
furnished  lodgings." 

It  was  a  cruel  position  for  her  to  be  placed  in,  for  the  offer 
was  meant  in  all  kindness ;  but  she  did  not  hesitate. 

"You  have  heard  what  Fred  said,  sir,"  she  answered,  calmly. 
"And  of  course  I  must  remain  with  my  husband." 

"  That  is  your  final  decision  ?" 

Her  eyes  were  bent  to  the  ground  ;  and  it  was  in  rather  a  low 
voice — for  she  knew  to  what  she  was  condemning  herself — that 
she  said, 
"Yes." 

He  rose  then. 

"  But  don't  go  yet,"  she  pleaded.  "  Won't  you  stay  and  have 
some  lunch  with  us  ?" 


AN   AMBASSADOR.  253 

"No,  thank  you;  I  must  try  and  get  back  to  Missenden  to- 
night." 

As  he  was  leaving  the  room — he  did  not  even  bid  good-by  to 
his  son — he  said  to  Sabina, 

"  Come  here,  I  want  to  speak  with  you." 

She  followed  him  into  the  passage,  where  he  opened  the  door 
for  himself. 

"  Mind,  child,  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you,"  he  said,  in  a  very 
different  voice  from  that  he  had  used  in  the  roorn.  "  Whatever 
we  can  do  for  your  good  we  will  do.  It  was  that  that  brought 
me  here  to-day." 

"  But  don't  quarrel  with  Fred,  either,"  she  pleaded,  earnestly. 
"  Indeed,  he  speaks  the  truth.  He  has  been  so  used  to  an  active 
life — here  and  there — that  it  is  hardly  a  wonder  he  shrinks  from 
tying  himself  down  to  Missenden  all  at  once.  Perhaps  he  might 
get  more  familiar  with  the  idea  by-and-by.  Or  he  might  try  it 
for  a  time.     Bat  don't  part  with  him  in  anger." 

"  I  have  nothing  further  to  say  on  that  head,"  the  old  man  said, 
somewhat  coldly.  "  Except  this,  that  I  don't  choose  to  support 
him  any  longer  in  idleness,  I  thought  when  he  married  there 
would  be  a  change.  There  is  no  change — except  for  the  worse, 
as  far  as  I  can  see.  My  patience  is  out.  From  this  day  he  will 
not  touch  a  penny  of  ray  money — it  is  simply  monstrous  that  in 
hard  times  like  these,  when  farms  are  going  a-begging,  we  should 
be  supplying  him  with  money  for  horse-racing  and  gambling.  No, 
from  this  day  the  allowance  we  have  hitherto  made  him  shall  be 
paid — but  into  your  hands,  for  the  support  of  yourself  and  your 
household.  That  is  settled.  So  good-by,  and  God  bless  you,  my 
child.     I'll  have  a  lot  of  questions  to  answer  about  the  baby." 

Sabina,  when  she  returned  to  the  room,  did  not  say  anything 
about  this  decision  on  the  part  of  the  old  gentleman  ;  for  she 
thought  that  it  was  perhaps  merely  a  threat — the  temporary  result 
of  impatience  and  anger.  As  for  Fred  Foster,  he  seemed  to  take 
his  father's  visit  very  coolly. 

"  Somebody  has  been  telling  him  a  pack  of  lies  about  mc,  that's 
what  it  is,"  he  said.  "And  didn't  I  tell  you  he  was  pitching  it 
strong  about  the  Mater's  illness? — of  course,  if  she  had  been  so 
very  ill  he  would  not  have  come  all  the  way  here.  And  the  story 
about  his  lawyers — very  good  !  I  know  why  he  came  down  in  that 
sudden  fashion ;  it  was  to  spy  out  the  land.     Wonder  if  he  ex- 


254  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

pected  to  find  a  wild  carnival  going-  on — fountains  spouting  cham- 
pagne— and  Nautch  girls  lolling  about  on  marble  steps.  Doesn't 
look  like  it,  somehow." 

With  the  second  post  came  the  looked-for  check ;  and  when 
Sabina  had  signed  it  he  put  it  in  his  pocket,  saying  he  would  get 
it  cashed  in  London,  and  send  her  down  the  balance  after  retain- 
ing the  five  pounds. 

"  Five  pounds,"  he  said,  as  he  leisurely  put  on  his  overcoat  and 
brushed  his  hat ;  "it  isn't  a  large  sura  to  set  about  the  retrieving 
of  your  fortunes  with.  I  dare  say  some  fellows  could  work  it 
out  into  five  hundred  pounds,  or  five  thousand  pounds,  before 
the  end  of  the  year;  but  that  doesn't  seem  to  be  my  line  at 
present." 

"Are  you  going  back  to  London  already  ?"  she  asked,  but  with 
no  reproach  in  her  tone. 

"I  suppose  one  must  try  to  do  something,"  he  said,  carelessly ; 
the  check  in  his  pocket  was  in  some  small  degree  comforting. 

And  then  he  said, 

"  Look  here;  you  don't  really  mean  to  bury  that  ten-pound  note 
in  the  savings-bank  ?  What  nonsense  that  is !  Our  circumstances 
are  not  suggestive  of  opening  bank-accounts.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Fred,"  she  said,  looking  at  him,  "  you  wouldn't  touch  that  ? 
It's  from  your  mother.     It's  for  Baby." 

He  pulled  himself  together. 

"  No,  no  ;  that's  all  right.  Go  and  bury  it  in  the  savings-bank, 
if  you  like.     Though  the  pony  seems  to  me  a  long  way  off." 

By-and-by  he  left  for  the  station,  and  Sabina  was  once  more  in 
solitary  possession  of  the  house.  Yet  not  quite  solitary,  cither. 
She  went  up  to  her  room ;  the  baby  was  in  its  cradle,  and  asleep. 
Perhaps  the  sound  of  her  foot  on  the  stairs,  perhaps  the  opening 
of  the  door,  had  disturbed  the  child;  but  he  moved  a  little  as  she 
crept  forward  on  tiptoe ;  and  presently  she  was  kneeling  down 
beside  him,  quieting  him  with  velvet  fingers,  and  crooning  over 
him — but  so  gently  that  she  could  scarce  hear  her  own  voice — the 
song  that  Janie  had  got  for  her — 

"  Oh  can  ye  sew  cushions, 
And  can  ye  sew  sheets, 
AnJ  can  ye  sing  ballaloo 
When  the  bairn  greets  ? 


TOO  late!  255 

And  hie  and  baw  birdie, 

And  hie  and  baw  lamb, 
And  hie  and  baw  birdie, 

My  bonnie  wee  lamb." 

She  liked  this  song — its  old-fashioned  words  and  pathetic  air. 
But  when  she  was  hushing  the  child  to  sleep — or  walking  about 
with  him  in  her  arms — and  even  when  she  was  at  her  loneliest, 
with  her  heart  at  times  pretty  heavy  within  her — she  did  not 
make  the  plaintive  air  too  sad.  For  well  she  knew  that  it  is  not 
when  the  mother  cries  that  the  babe  smiles. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

TOO   LATE ! 

"  I  SUPPOSE  you  would  like  me  to  pawn  my  wife's  wedding- 
ring  ?" 

It  was  Fred  Foster  who  spoke  in  this  hurt  way ;  and  it  was 
his  friend  Jim  Deane  whom  he  addressed.  But  all  the  usual  good- 
humor  was  absent  now  from  Mr.  Deane's  small,  ferrety,  clear  eyes, 
and  from  the  weather-pinched  face,  with  its  lined  features  and 
small,  neat  whiskers.  For  there  was  no  Sabina  present  to  mollify 
his  manner.  Rather  he  seemed  to  be  following  his  wife's  brisk 
counsel  of  the  year  before — that  he  should  no  longer  submit  to 
Foster's  superior  airs;  and  indeed  at  this  moment  his  expression 
was  far  from  being  placable.  The  two  men  were  in  a  small  apart- 
ment at  the  top  of  a  liouse  in  Wellington  Street,  Strand,  which 
now  constituted  Fred  Foster's  lodging  when  he  had  to  stay  in 
town  of  a  night. 

"  Pawn  it  or  sell  it,  that  don't  concern  me,"  was  the  retort. 
"But  what  I  want  you  to  understand  is,  that  I  am  not  going  to 
go  on  renewing  that  bill  every  three  months.  Mind,  I  don't  like 
the  look  of  the  transaction  at  all.  I  don't  think  it  would  look 
well  in  court.  You  take  over  a  horse  and  trap ;  give  a  bill  for 
the  amount;  then  you  sell  them  ;  but  instead  of  taking  up  the 
bill  when  it  is  due,  it  appears  that  you  stuffed  the  money  into 
your  own  pocket  and  spent  it.     Well,  now,  you  know — " 

"Oh,  what's  the  use  of  talking  like  that!"  Foster  impatiently 
broke  in.     "  You  would  have  had  the  money  long  ago  if  I  hadn't 


256  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

struck  such  a  cursed  vein  of  ill-luck.  Just  look  at  Altcar  last 
week.  Did  you  ever  see  such  luck?  Shrapnell  breaking  her  leg, 
and  Tricksy  Kitty  and  The  Lad  coming  to  grief  almost  imme- 
diately after.     How  can  you  expect  any  one  to  be  in  funds  ?" 

"  And  there  is  that  house,"  continued  the  other.  "  You  have 
been  in  it  all  this  time,  and  not  one  penny  of  rent  paid  1  Well,  I 
can't  afford  to  find  people  in  furnished  houses  all  for  nothing." 

"  You've  come  to  town  in  a  pretty  temper,  Jim,"  Foster  remark- 
ed, coolly.  "  Why,  I  took  over  the  house  and  the  things  to  oblige 
you — you  wanted  to  be  off  to  Newmarket  in  such  a  hurry." 

"To  oblige  me?"  Mr.  Deane  repeated.  "Well,  you'll  oblige 
me  by  clearing  out ;  that's  all  I've  got  to  say.  I'll  forfeit  the 
rent  up  till  now  ;  but  I  don't  mean  to  be  made  a  fool  of  any 
longer." 

"Why,  man,  do  you  think  you  could  let  the  house  at  this  time 
of  the  year  ?" 

"  That  is  my  affair." 

"  Come,  be  reasonable,  Jim,"  Foster  said,  in  more  conciliatory 
tones.  "You  know  very  well  that  I  always  meant  to  pay  you, 
and  mean  it  now.  It  isn't  like  you  to  be  hard  on  a  fellow  who  is 
down  on  his  luck;  and  the  luck  I've  experienced  of  late  would 
melt  the  heart  of  a  grindstone.  Anybody  deader  broke  than  I 
am  at  the  present  moment  I  can't  imagine.  But  it  won't  last 
— it  can't  last.  Just  give  me  till  Sandown  Grand  Prize,  and  then 
you'll  see." 

Deane's  small  eyes  brightened  up  a  little. 

"  What  are  you  on — Victory  or  Cherry-band  ?" 

"Cherry-band." 

"  Cherry-band  is  a  very  good  horse,"  he  remarked,  slowly. 

"I  got  on  him  at  8  to  1,"  Foster  said,  with  some  cheerful- 
ness. 

"  And  what  do  you  stand  to  win,  if  it's  a  fair  question  ?"  the 
other  asked. 

"  Well,  I  put  everything  I  could  scrape  together  on  him — ev- 
ery scrap  ;  but  you  may  suppose  it  wasn't  millions.  AVhy,  that's 
been  the  worst  of  my  luck ;  when  I  have  pulled  off  a  good  thing 
there's  been  nothing  on  worth  speaking  of." 

"  Cherry-band  is  a  good  horse  over  the  sticks,"  Deane  said, 
contemplatively. 

"  We'll  go  across  to  the  Gayety  bar,"  said  Foster,  perceiving 


TOO   LATE  !  257 

that  Mr.  Deane  had  grown  more  amenable,  "  and  drink  his  good 
health.     It's  Cherry-band  has  got  to  pull  nie  through." 

When  they  were  over  the  way  Foster,  whose  temperament  could 
move  from  one  extreme  to  another  with  remarkable  facility,  said 
to  his  companion, 

"  Look  here,  Jim,  I'm  so  certain  of  this  thing  coming  all  right 
that  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  with  you — here,  now,  at  this  very 
counter.  If  you  are  worrying  about  the  rent  of  the  house,  I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do ;  I'll  get  paper  and  ink  and  write  down  to 
my  wife,  directing  her  to  send  you  a  certain  sum  every  month 
out  of  the  household  money.  You  may  depend  it  will  be  paid ; 
for  she's  as  methodical  as  clock-work ;  and  so  is  her  precious 
prig  of  a  father,  too,  although  I  believe  he  would  prefer  to  see 
us  both  starving.  Now,  will  that  do  ?  And  how  much  is  it 
to  be?" 

Mr,  Deane  looked  somewhat  uneasy. 

"N — no,  I  don't  think  I  will  trouble  Mrs.  Foster,"  he  said,  with 
some  hesitation.  "  Business  is  business,  of  course ;  but  I  prefer 
dealing  with  men." 

"Then  you  are  content  to  wait  to  see  what  Wednesday  does 
for  me  ?" 

"  Y— yes." 

"  Now,"  Foster  continued,  boldly,  "  will  you  lend  me  a  tenner 
to  put  on  Cherry-band  ?" 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  Deane  said,  with  much  sharpness.  "  W"hy, 
you're  out  of  your  senses  1" 

"  It's  always  the  way,"  Foster  said,  plaintively  ;  "  when  I've 
got  hold  of  a  real  good  thing,  a  moral,  it  always  happens  just  then 
that  I  am  out  of  funds,  and  lose  my  chance." 

"And  what  if  Cherry-band  shouldn't  pull  it  off?"  his  compan- 
ion said,  eying  him. 

Foster  laughed  in  a  curious  kind  of  way. 

"  We'd  better  not  speak  about  that." 

It  was  in  the  interval  between  tliis  conversation  and  tlie  San- 
down  Park  Meeting  that  Fred  Foster  learned,  for  the  first  time, 
that  henceforth  his  father  meant  to  forward  his  (juartorly  allow- 
ance to  Sabina ;  in  fact  it  was  on  one  of  his  occasional  visits  to 
Wayside  Cottage  that  the  check  arrived,  payable  to  her  order ; 
and  he  chose  to  be  very  angry  about  the  circumstance,  despite 
her  remonstrances. 


258  SABINA  ZEMBKA. 

"  What  difference  will  it  make  ?"  she  said.  "  You  will  get  tbe 
money  all  the  same." 

"  Why  did  you  hide  it  from  me  all  this  time  that  he  had  spoken 
to  you  about  it  ?"  he  asked,  roughly  enough. 

"  I — I  did  not  hide  it.  I  thought  perhaps  it  was  only  a  threat," 
she  said.  "Indeed,  I  had  no  wish  that  he  should  do  anything  of 
the  kind." 

"  He  thinks  he  can  twist  you  round  his  finger.  Wants  you  to 
go  to  Missenden !  Oh  yes.  I  wonder  what  he  will  try  next. 
Anyhow,  this  check  comes  in  handy  enough,  for  I'm  off  to  San- 
down  to-morrow — so  you'd  better  sign  it  now." 

"  But,  Fred,  you  don't  mean  to  take  the  whole  of  it  away  with 
you  ?"  she  pleaded. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  imagine  I  am  going  to  risk  all  of  it  on  horses,'* 
he  said.  "There's  something  more  immediate  than  that.  The 
Collinsons  have  a  writ  out  against  rae — the  contemptible  cads  ! — 
and  I  must  get  it  squared.  That  comes  of  doing  people  a  kind- 
ness. I  wonder  how  many  people  I  have  got  to  try  their  cliam- 
pagnes — without  a  farthing  of  commission.  But  every  one's 
hand  is  turned  against  rae  just  now.  Here's  Deane rowing  about 
the  rent  of  this  house,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  glad  to  have 
the  place  kept  warm  and  dry  through  such  a  winter.  Oh,  I've 
had  some  nice  experiences  of  late  of  human  gratitude ;  I  could 
write  a  book  about  it.  As  soon  as  you're  down  in  your  luck, 
then  the  truth  comes  out.  If  you  can  ask  them  to  dinner,  and 
give  them  the  best  of  everything,  then  it's  '  My  dear  fellow,'  all 
over  the  place ;  or  if  they  fancy  you're  on  good  terms  with  some 
of  the  trainers,  they  are  ready  to  black  your  boots  ;  but  the  mo- 
ment your  luck  turns  against  you,  then  it's  '  Pay  up,  or  you'll  be 
in  the  County  Court  next  week.'  Well,  we'll  see  what  Wednes- 
day does.  I  hope  it  will  be  the  turning-point.  I've  had  ill-luck 
before,  but  never  such  a  run ;  the  time  has  come  for  a  change, 
surely." 

"It  seems  such  a  pity,  Fred,"  she  ventured  to  say  (for  she  was 
thinking  of  the  small  boy  up-stairs,  and  of  many  little  plans  and 
schemes  she  had  been  drawing  out  on  his  behalf),  "  that  you  should 
let  everything  hang  on  a  mere  chance." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know,"  he  returned,  scornfully;  "  that  is  what  wom- 
en always  say.  It's  such  a  pity  we're  not  all  angels.  Well,  I 
never  pretended  to  be  one.    Besides,  the  question  doesn't  interest 


TOO   LATE  !  259 

« 

me.  What  does  interest  me  is  whether  Cherry-band  is  going  to 
win  the  Grand  Prize  at  Sandown  on  Wednesday — that  interests 
me  a  very  great  deal,  I  can  tell  you," 

He  paused  for  a  second  or  two,  staring  into  the  fire,  and  then 
he  rose,  and  went  and  filled  a  pipe. 

"Oh,  he  must,"  he  said,  half  to  himself,  and  indeed  as  if  he 
■were  inclined  to  laugh  at  himself.  "He  must,  he  must,  he  must! 
Every  man  and  lad  in  the  stable  has  put  his  last  farthing  on  him. 
He's  ten  pounds  better  than  Cryddesho." 

She  came  to  him  with  the  check. 

"  Here  it  is,  Fred,  but  don't  be  reckless." 

"  I'm  not  reckless !"  he  said,  turning  upon  her.  "  I  tell  you  we 
simply  can't  live  on  the  income  we  have  at  present,  and  when  I 
try  to  make  things  a  little  better,  you  say  I'm  reckless !  You 
don't  suppose  any  human  being  can  have  a  constant  run  of  good- 
luck.  I  had  a  fair  slice  of  it  after  we  were  married,  and  you  didn't 
complain  then.  You  must  take  the  bad  with  the  good,  like  other 
people ;  and  it's  no  use,  when  things  are  bad,  when  one's  trying 
one's  best  to  pull  through — I  say  it's  pure  nonsense  to  talk  about 
recklessness." 

But  that  was  neither  his  tone  nor  his  manner  when,  early  on 
the  morning  after  the  Sandown  Grand  Prize  had  been  run  for,  he 
came  back  to  Witstead.  For  the  first  time  in  their  life  together, 
Sabina  saw  him  thoroughly  cowed  ;  he  was  pale  and  agitated,  and 
at  the  same  time  unusually  reticent.    No  wonder  she  was  ahirmed. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Fred  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Everything  is  the  matter,"  he  answered,  curtly. 

He  went  up-stairs  to  his  dressing-room  and  got  together  a  few 
things,  which  he  brought  down  and  proceeded  to  put  hurriedly 
into  his  bag,  and  while  doing  so  made  her  some  brief  explana- 
tion. 

"I  must  get  out  of  the  way  for  a  little  while,  that's  all,"  he 
said.  "  I'm  in  a  mess.  I  must  clear  out  and  get  away  until  I  see 
how  things  are  to  be  squared." 

"Where  are  you  going,  Fred?"  she  asked,  calmly. 

"You'd  better  not  know.  You  can  say  you  don't  know.  But, 
look  here,  whatever  money  you  can  send  me — and  you  may  im- 
agine I  shall  have  need  of  every  penny — you  can  send  to  Captain 
Kaby ;  he  will  know  how  to  pass  it  on." 

He  scribbled  a  few  words  on  a  piece  of  paper. 


260  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"That  is  bis  address.  If  you  send  post-office  orders,  make 
them  payable  to  him,  not  to  me." 

"  Is — is  everything  gone,  Fred  ?"  she  ventured  to  ask. 

"Everything?    I  should  think  so.    Everything!" 

She  went  forward  and  put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Fred,  will  you  let  this  be  the  end,  now  ?  I  should  not  regret 
the  loss  of  the  money  if  only  you  would  promise  to  have  done 
with  betting.     Will  you  ?" 

He  shook  off  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  don't  talk.  Cherry-band  was  drugged.  I  saw  it  the  mo- 
ment I  clapped  eyes  on  him.  He  was  quite  dazed  and  helpless 
when  they  pulled  him  out  to  run.  Well,  it  has  done  for  me. 
Ev'en  if  the  owner  and  trainer  find  out  the  scoundrel,  that  won't 
help  me.     What  money  have  you  in  the  house  ?" 

The  sudden  question  startled  her.  Clearly  he  was  bent  on  im- 
mediate flight. 

"  A  little  over  four  pounds,  I  think,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,  I  must  have  it,"  he  said,  briefly. 

"  Fred !" 

"Now  don't  make  a  fuss,  but  go  and  get  it.  Do  you  think 
this  is  a  time  for  talking  ?  I  can  tell  you  it's  more  serious  than 
that." 

He  had  finished  his  packing  by  this  time,  and  had  gone  to  the 
sideboard  for  a  piece  of  cake  and  a  glass  of  spirits  and  water. 

Sabina  said  nothing  further,  but  went  away  up-stairs,  slowly 
and  stealthily,  for  the  child  was  lying  asleep. 

On  the  landing,  however,  she  paused  irresolute.  She  could  just 
hear  within  the  girl  she  had  left  in  charge  hushing  the  baby,  and, 
indeed,  making  some  effort  to  imitate  the  cradle-song  that  Sabina 
was  used  to  croon.  But  it  was  not  to  listen  she  stood  there,  it 
was  to  bring  her  mind  to  this  robbery  of  her  child,  as  she  con- 
sidered it ;  and  at  last  she  gave  way — she  could  not  do  it.  She 
went  down  again  to  the  room. 

"No,"  she  said,  with  her  face  grown  very  pale,  "I  will  not  do 
it,  Fred  ;  I  cannot  be  so  mean.  It  is  not  of  myself  I  am  thinking. 
If  I  were  starving  I  would  not  complain;  but  it's  the  child — if 
he  were  taken  ill — and  nothing  in  the  house — " 

"  Oh,  if  you  won't  get  it,  I  must  fetch  it  for  myself,  I  suppose," 
he  said ;  and  up-stairs  he  went  to  the  bedroom,  where  he  found 
no  difficulty  in  getting  the  money  out  of  her  desk.    A  few  min- 


TOO   LATE  !  261 

utes  thereafter  he  had  gone  from  the  house,  and  was  on  his  way 
to  the  station. 

And  so  Sabina  was  once  more  left  helpless  and  penniless  and 
alone ;  and  it  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  that  more  than  ever,  if 
that  were  possible,  she  prized  and  treasured  the  one  consolation 
of  her  solitary  existence.  The  child  became  the  very  life  of  her 
life ;  the  source  of  any  glimmer  of  joy  that  shot  athwart  these 
darkened  days ;  the  one  cheerful  thing  she  could  think  of  as  re- 
garded the  future.  She  was  angry  and  indignant  with  the  little 
maid-servant  for  not  understanding  what  Baby  said — efforts  at 
conversation  which  were  mostly  the  creation  of  the  mother's  fancy; 
she  wrote  wonderful  accounts  to  Janie  of  his  exploits  and  quali- 
ties; when  Baby  was  pleased  she  was  happy,  and  for  the  moment 
forgot  everything  else.  Indeed  it  was  oftentimes  with  a  wonder- 
ing gratitude  that  amid  all  her  dumb  fears  for  the  future,  and  her 
present  anxieties  and  trouble,  she  could  turn  to  this  other  living 
creature,  as  much  concerned  as  herself,  but  so  happily  unconscious. 
She  would  sing  the  cradle-song  to  him : 

"Now  hiish-a-baw,  lammic. 

And  husli-a-baw,  dear, 
Now  husli-a-ba\v,  laiuraie, 

Thy  niiniiie  is  here; 
The  wild  wind  is  ravin', 

Thy  niinnie's  heart's  sair. 
The  wild  wind  is  ravin', 

But  ye  diuua  care." 

And  very  glad  was  she  to  take  the  last  of  these  lines  as  solace  to 
herself.  It  may  be  mentioned  that  Walter  Lindsay,  incidentally, 
of  course,  asked  Janie,  in  a  letter,  whether  it  was  likely  that  Sa- 
bina had  heard  of  the  Highland  mother's  pet  name  for  her  child 
— "  the  lamb  of  my  heart;"  and  it  is  to  be  guessed  that  that  piece 
of  information  was  not  long  in  finding  its  way  down  to  Witstead. 
Sabina  was  glad  to  have  the  pretty  phrase ;  the  fact  implied  in  it 
she  had  already  found  out  for  herself. 

But  soon  this  uneventful  solitude  was  to  be  startled  by  unwel- 
come news.    Old  Mr.  Foster  wrote: 

"  Dear  Daughter-in-law. — Mother  has  grown  much  worse. 
She  anxiously  wishes  to  see  you  and  the  boy,  if  it  is  possible.  Tell 
Fred  he  must  come  at  once." 


2G2  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

She  feared  what  this  might  moan;  and  instantly  telegraphed 
to  Captain  Raby  for  her  husband's  address.  To  her  astonish- 
ment and  indignation,  instead  of  answering  this  telegram  forth- 
with, Captain  Raby  made  his  appearance  at  Wayside  Cottage, 
and  hoped  that  she  would  command  his  services  in  any  possible 
way,  if  he  could  be  of  assistance  to  her.  She  briefly  answered 
that  all  she  wanted  was  to  know  where  her  husband  was  at  that 
moMiont.  She  remained  standing,  her  tall  figure  drawn  up  to  its 
full  height,  her  mouth  firm,  her  eyes  proud  and  invincible.  It 
was  he  who  was  somewhat  abashed ;  and  he  began  to  make  a  few 
excuses  for  his  visit — saying  it  was  necessary  just  then  to  be  a 
little  cautious  in  revealing  Fred  Foster's  whereabouts,  and  the  like. 
And  then,  twirling  his  waxed  mustache  the  while,  he  endeavored 
to  introduce  a  little  bland  facetiousness  about  Mr.  Foster's  ways 
and  weaknesses ;  and  clearly  wished  to  be  asked  to  sit  down  and 
prolong  the  interview.  Sabina  had  no  such  intention  in  her  head. 
AVith  cold  insistence  she  got  from  him,  if  not  her  husband's  actual 
address,  at  least  the  name  of  a  person  in  Yorkshire  who  was  in 
communication  with  him;  and  then  with  a  formal  "Thank  you; 
good-morning,"  Captain  Raby  found  himself  dismissed,  and  free 
to  return  to  London.  His  temper  was  not  improved  by  this  visit, 
as  one  or  two  of  his  associates  discovered  that  afternoon. 

Sabina,  not  understanding  precisely  why  her  husband  should 
wish  to  remain  concealed  for  the  moment,  concluded  that  it  would 
be  better  not  to  telegraph  to  him  ;  but  she  wrote  him  an  urgent 
letter,  telling  him  of  the  news  she  had  received,  and  begging 
him  at  once  to  go  down  to  Buckinghamshire.  As  for  herself,  he 
would  know  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  go ;  she  had  not  the 
money,  for  one  thing. 

She  posted  the  letter  at  once;  but  she  might  have  spared  her- 
self the  trouble.  The  very  next  morning  there  came  a  telegram. 
She  opened  it  with  trembling  fingers;  it  contained  a  brief  and 
laconic  message  from  a  broken-hearted  old  man — '''' Do  not  come. 
All  is  over.'^  Sabina  let  the  paper  fall  on  to  the  table.  That 
gentle -eyed  woman  had  been  very,  very  kind  to  her.  And  it 
seemed  so  pitiless  that  the  one  idol  of  her  life — for  whom  she  had 
striven  so  much,  for  whom  she  had  sacrificed  so  much — should  not 
have  been  with  her  in  her  last  hours.  It  was  impossible  that  he 
could  have  got  the  letter.  It  was  next  to  impossible  that  any  in- 
telligence of  the  approaching  end  could  have  reached  him. 


TOO   LATE  !  263 

It  was  three  days  after  that,  and  late  in  the  evening,  that  Fred 
Foster  suddenly  made  his  appearance  at  Wayside  Cottage,  She 
was  horrified  beyond  measure  at  the  sight  of  him.  He  was  as 
one  demented  ;  his  face  white  and  haggard  ;  his  eyes  furtive,  and 
yet  with  a  strange  glare  in  them ;  and  his  clothes  were  crumpled 
and  soiled,  as  if  he  had  been  asleep  on  the  floor  of  a  third-class 
carriage. 

"  Did  you  get  my  letter?"  she  said,  breathlessly. 

"  What  letter?"  he  said — and  his  speech  was  thick  in  his  throat, 
"  No,  I  got  no  letter.  I  saw  the — the  announcement  in  the  Times. 
My  God !" 

He  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  like  some  wild  beast  in 
a  cage. 

"  Did  she  send  no  message  to  me  ?  Was  there  no  message  for 
me  ?     That's  what  I  have  come  for.     Surely — surely — a  word — " 

"  Here  is  the  letter  from  your  father,"  she  said,  gravely  ;  and 
she  handed  it  to  him. 

He  glanced  hurriedly  over  it,  and  then,  with  a  slight  cry  as  of 
pain,  he  threw  himself  on  the  sofa,  face  downward,  and  broke  out 
into  a  wild  fit  of  sobbing.  She  was  terrified.  For  a  young  wom- 
an, she  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  human  sorrow,  but  she  had  never 
seen  a  man  so  moved  before. 

"  I  wish  I  was  dead  too,"  he  said,  in  broken  sentences,  between 
the  sobs;  "and  it  would  be  better  for  everybody.  Oh,  I  can  see 
it  well  enough,  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born.  It's  been  my 
luck  all  the  way  through  to  bring  misery  to  every  one.  And 
what's  the  use  of  holding  on  now,  when  you  can  only  do  more 
and  more  harm  ?  It's  no  good  trying  any  more  now  ;  everything's 
against  mc.  And  there  she  has  gone  away,  just  when  I  was  at 
the  worst.  But — but  I  can  make  reparation — to  others.  The 
old  man  won't  have  to  fret  any  more.  Why  did  you  ever  marry 
me?  I  told  you  what  kind  of  fellow  I  was,  I  might  have  been 
better  if  there  had  been  a  little  luck ;  but  it  was  all  against  me. 
And  you'll  be  all  right;  you  are  a  strong  woman.  Yes,  you  arc 
a  stronger  woman  than  I  am  a  man.  But  there  is  somctiiing  you 
are  not  strong  enough  to  do,  and  I  am  going  to  do  it;  it's  the 
only  thing  I  can  do  now.  I  am  going  out  of  this  world  alto- 
gether— it's  the  only  reparation  I  can  make.  If  the  poor  old 
Mater  knew,  she  would  say  I  was  doing  right — " 

Sabina  went  to  him  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 


2G4  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"Fred,  you  mast  not  talk  like  that !  Tell  me,  are  you  going 
to  the  funeral  ?" 

"  I  daren't — I  daren't,"  he  groaned.  "  I  would  kill  myself  on 
her  grave.  And  perhaps  the  best  thing,  too,  that  could  happen  ; 
for  it's  all  over  now." 

"  No,  no  ;  don't  take  on  so,"  she  said,  soothingly.  "  See,  here 
is  a  piece  of  porcelain  that  I  have  been  painting  for  Baby's  birth- 
day, with  the  date  on  it,  and  a  wreath  of  mixed  none-so-pretty 
and  forget-me-not.  Janie  is  going  to  have  it  glazed  and  fired  for 
me." 

By-and-by  he  rose ;  but  he  would  listen  to  none  of  her  pro- 
posals that  he  should  have  something  to  eat  or  drink,  or  that  he 
should  go  to  bed.  He  would  not  go  up-stairs  that  night,  he  said  ; 
he  was  going  out,  and  might  be  back  late ;  he  did  not  wish  to 
■wake  the  child.     And  then  he  wandered  away  into  tlie  darkness. 

It  was  about  three  in  the  morning  when  he  returned ;  and 
thereafter  she,  lying  awake  in  the  silence,  could  hear  him  pacing 
up  and  down  ;  and  sometimes  she  thought  she  could  hear  him 
say  "  Mother  1"  And  if  she  was  convinced  that  this  passion  of 
grief  was  sincere  enough  for  the  moment,  still,  she  could  not  tell 
that  the  remorse  accompanying  it  was  likely  to  be  a  permanent 
or  fruitful  thing.  On  the  contrar}^,  as  she  looked  away  to  the 
future  (in  those  despondent  hours  that  herald  in  the  dawn),  and 
as  she  considered  that  the  one  salutary  and  controlling  influence 
over  Fred  Foster's  life  had  now  been  taken  away,  she  could  only 
despairingly  conjecture  what  the  fate  of  herself,  and  of  her  child, 
that  was  dearer  to  her  than  herself,  was  likely  to  be. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

AN  OLD  FRIEND. 

It  was  about  a  couple  of  months  after  this  that  Fred  Foster  was 
one  morning  walking  in  towards  the  town  of  Scarborough,  care- 
lessly switching  at  the  way-side  weeds  with  his  cane,  and  appar- 
ently thinking  hard.  Indeed,  so  preoccupied  was  he  that  he  would 
probably  have  allowed  a  smart  little  chaise,  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
small  brown  ponies,  to  have  passed  unnoticed,  had  not  the  soli- 
tary occupant  of  the  vehicle  pulled  up,  and  rather  timidly  pro- 


AN   OLD   FRIEND.  265 

nounced  his  name.  She  was  a  woman  of  about  thirty,  styh'shiy 
dressed  in  a  drivinj^-coat  of  silver-gra}^  phish,  and  beef-eater  hat 
of  the  same  material ;  and  she  would  have  been  distinctly  good- 
looking  had  she  only  let  her  face  alone.  But  her  desperate  efforts 
to  appear  ten  years  younger  than  she  really  was  were  somewhat 
too  obvious.  Her  abundant  yellow  hair  looked  bleached,  and  her 
lips,  that  were  a  trifle  thin  and  hard  in  expression,  owed  some- 
thing, it  is  to  be  feared,  to  artificial  aid.  And  yet,  notwithstand- 
ing the  aggressive  character  of  her  thin  features  and  steely-blue 
eyes,  she  was  now  regarding  Fred  Foster  with  considerable  doubt, 
as  if  she  was  uncertain  as  to  how  he  would  answer  her  appeal. 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do  ?"  he  said,  rather  coldly. 

She  shifted  the  whip  and  familiarly  held  out  her  right  hand. 

"  There — let  by-gones  be  by-gones." 

"  I  have  no  objection,"  he  said,  and  he  stepped  forward  and 
took  her  hand  for  a  moment.  "  Who  could  have  expected  to 
meet  you  here?     I  thought  you  lived  at  Doncaster?" 

"  One  word,"  she  interposed.  "  Have  you  heard  anything  about 
me  lately  ?" 

*'  No ;  I  haven't  been  about  much,"  he  said,  evasively. 

"Then  you  may  as  well  call  me  Mrs.  Fairservice  again,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

"  What !"  he  said.  "  You  don't  mean  that  ?  Have  you  and 
Bernard — " 

"  01),  don't  talk  to  me  about  Charlie  Bernard,"  she  again  inter- 
posed, with  a  scornful  little  laugh.  "I've  had  enough  of  Charlie 
Bernard.  I  found  him  out  in  the  end.  Why,  if  you  only  knew 
what  a  hound  he  is —  But  there,  we  will  not  speak  about  him. 
You  never  thought  much  of  him  ?" 

"I  had  no  great  reason  to  think  much  of  him,"  remarked  Fos- 
ter, who  was  too  shrewd  a  man  of  the  world  to  say  anything  more 
definite.  He  knew  that  this  fair  dame  had  a  pretty  violent  tem- 
per ;  and  no  doubt  there  had  been  a  quarrel,  which  very  likely 
might  get  patched  up  again. 

"And  you?"  she  said,  scanning  him  from  head  to  foot  with  her 
cold,  scrutinizing  eyes.  "You  don't  seem  over  -  flourishing.  I 
heard  you  had  got  into  queer-street?" 

"You  heard  right,  then,"  he  answered,  rather  gloomily. 

"And  you,  of  all  men  in  the  world !"  she  said,  with  a  sardonic 
little  laugh.  "  I  wonder  how  you  like  being  hard  up.  I  should 
12 


266  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

be  curious  to  see  how  you  bear  it.  Somehow  I  can't  imagine 
yonr  living  up  a  tree.  It  doesn't  seem  natural.  I  suppose  you 
swear  a  good  deal  V 

"Oh,  I  assure  you  it  is  quite  a  laughing  matter,"  he  retorted,  a 
little  bit  nettled. 

"No,  no;  I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  said  at  once.  "Come,  tell 
me  what  you  arc  doing  in  Scarborough." 

"  I  have  just  been  out  to  Ilolkley  Hall.  Raby  is  there  just 
now — you  remember  Captain  Ruby  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  "Well,  he's  trying  to  fix  things  together  for  me.  You  may 
laugh  as  you  like,  but  living  the  life  of  a  badger  in  a  hole  is  rather 
monotonous.  And  it  wasn't  through  any  fault  of  mine  that  I  got 
into  this  mess.  It  was  Cherry-band  that  broke  me — of  course  you 
heard  of  the  drugging  of  Cherry-band  ?  Oh,  I  can  tell  you,  I 
have  had  some  rare  experiences  of  human  nature  since  then.  I 
never  had  a  high  and  mighty  opinion  of  my  fellow-creatures ;  but 
it  was  little  I  knew  how  mean  they  could  be  until  I  got  broke." 

"Yes,  on  the  turf  it  is  every  man  for  himself,  and  the  devil 
catch  the  hindmost.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  the  devil  does 
catch  the  hindmost." 

But  she  did  not  seem  interested  in  what  she  was  saying,  or  in 
what  he  was  saying  either.  As  he  went  on  to  detail  his  woes  and 
wrongs,  she  listened  in  silence,  looking  at  him  from  time  to  time, 
as  if  she  was  pondering  over  some  very  different  matters.  At 
length  she  said,  abruptly, 

"  Will  you  dine  with  me  to-night  ?" 

He  hesitated. 

"Are  you  at  an  hotel  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  she  named  the  hotel. 

"Do  you  mean  the  table  cVhote?^^  he  asked,  with  an  involun- 
tary look  downward  at  his  attire,  which  Avas  none  of  the  smartest. 

She  instantly  understood  his  hesitation. 

"No,  we  will  dine  in  my  sitting-room.  Come  as  you  are,  of 
course.  At  seven,  that  Ave  may  have  a  good  talk  afterwards.  Is 
it  a  bargain  ?" 

"  Very  well — thank  you,"  he  said. 

"  Mind,  it  is  Mrs.  Fairservice  you  ask  for.  Good-by,  just  now." 
And  therewith  she  touched  the  ponies  and  drove  on. 

Towards  seven  o'clock  that  evening  he  made  himself  as  trim  as 


AN    OLD   FKIExVD.  267 

was  possible,  and  went  along  to  the  hotel,  where  he  found  Mrs. 
Fairservice,  very  elegantly  attired,  and  apparently  in  a  merry  mood. 
Glancing  at  the  table,  he  saw  that  it  was  laid  for  two. 

"  You  have  no  one  with  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  ;  I  think  I  can  take  care  of  myself,"  she  an- 
swered, blandly.     "And  they  know  me  at  this  hotel." 

She  had  ordered  a  neat  little  dinner  for  him,  and  was  evidently 
well  acquainted  with  men's  tastes.  The  things  were  all  good  of 
their  kind,  but  not  too  numerous;  there  was  no  dawdling  over 
sweets;  the  wines  were  excellent;  and  awaiting  him  there  lay  on 
the  mantle-piece  half  a  dozen  cigars — not  greeny-gray,  nor  foxy- 
red,  nor  black  with  bitterness,  nor  veined  with  oil,  but  (when 
stripped  of  their  silver-foil  and  tissue-paper)  plump,  smooth,  soft- 
ly brown  Cabanas,  with  promise  of  supernal  joy. 

"  I  can  hardly  help  laughing,"  she  said,  when  together  they 
were  seated  at  the  table,  "to  think  of  Master  Fred  being  up  a 
tree.     Honestly  now,  did  you  ever  deny  yourself  anything?" 

"  Never,  when  I  could  get  it,"  he  answered,  frankly,  "  What 
is  the  use  ?" 

"  You're  married,  ain't  you  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Where's  your  wife  ?" 

"  In  Surrey — Witstead — near  Epsom." 

"  How  does  she  get  on  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  W^ho  supports  her?     You  can't,  I  know." 

"  Oh,  she  has  money  from  her  father,  and  from  my  father,  too. 
That  is  a  pretty  joke.  To  spite  me,  I  suppose,  the  old  gentleman 
prefers  to  pay  over  my  allowance  to  her.  But  it's  the  same  thing 
in  the  end." 

"  Yes,  I  should  imagine  so,"  she  said,  dryly.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  that  Chablis?'' 

"  It  is  very  good  indeed." 

"They  told  me  it  was." 

"  lint  why  don't  you  take  any  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Well,"  she  answered,  "  1  have  had  some  vexations  to  get 
through  lately,  and  I  find  that  wine  keeps  the  brain  too  mucli 
alive  to  these  things — especially  if  you  are  lying  awake  at  night. 
I  don't  worry  so  much  when  I  keep  to  water." 

"Don't  you  drink  wine  at  all,  then  ?" 


268  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"  Sometimes  I  have  a  little  champagne.  Here,  waiter,  open 
that  bottle." 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

"What  worries  have  you  had?"  Fred  Foster  ashed,  with  that 
masculine  disregard  of  the  presence  of  servants  which  women 
never  acquire. 

"I  will  tell  you  presently,"  said  Mrs.  Fairservice,  with  a  dis- 
creet wink. 

But  even  when  the  waiter  had  gone  from  the  I'oom,  she  seemed 
to  wish  to  keep  away  from  that  topic.  Indeed  they  had  a  great 
many  things  and  persons  to  talk  over,  and  among  them — a  topic 
to  which  Mrs.  Fairservice  pertinaciously,  and  Fred  Foster  most 
unwillingly,  returned — was  his  wife. 

"  What  kind  of  a  woman  is  she?"  his  companion  asked,  frankly. 

"  Oh,  she's  a  good  enough  sort,"  he  answered,  with  some  reluc- 
tance. "Rather  lofty  in  her  notions  sometimes,  for  the  humble 
likes  of  me.  Brought  up  among  philanthropic  fads,  and  that 
kind  of  thing.  Why,  I  believe,  if  she  had  a  sixpence  to  spare, 
she  would  sooner  send  it  to  the  soup-kitchens  at  Westminster 
than  spend  it  on  her  own  child." 

"What!"  Mrs.  J'airservice  cried,  with  a  burst  of  rather  thin- 
tinkling  laughter.     "  You  don't  mean  so  say  you  are  a  papa  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am." 

"Well,  well,  well !  Wonders  will  never  cease.  To  think  of 
Master  Fred  being  a  father.  You  don't  look  it,  somehow.  But 
about  your  wife — I  heard  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  swell." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  call  a  swell,"  he  said,  rather  sulkily. 
"She  is  the  daughter  of  Sir  Anthony  Zembra,  who  is  the  meanest 
cur  in  these  three  kingdoms.  However,  Vm  going  to  have  all 
that  put  to  rights  as  soon  as  I  can  go  south.  I'm  not  going  to 
stand  it  any  longer.  There's  my  father,  who  is  a  poor  man,  he 
gives  us  more  than  Zembra  does.  But  that  will  soon  be  put 
straight.  Raby  is  patching  up  my  affairs.  And  when  I  get 
south,  I'm  going  to  have  a  little  settlement  with  Sir  Anthony 
Zembra.     I'm  not  going  to  support  his  daughter." 

Mrs.  Fairservice  deliberately  put  down  her  knife  and  fork. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  support  his  daughter,"  she  slowly  re- 
peated.    "  Well,  you  are  a  most  delightful  wag  !" 

But  the  quick  glance  of  anger  that  he  darted  at  her  showed 
that  she  had  gone  too  far — or  else  that  he  had  drank  too  mucli 


AN    OLD    FRIEND.  269 

champagne ;  so  she  instantly  changed  her  manner,  and  began  to 
prophesy  smooth  things,  and  to  say  that  Sir  Anthony  Zembra,  if 
approached  in  the  proper  way,  would  of  course  come  to  the  aid 
of  his  son-in-law. 

Dinner  over,  coffee  was  brought  in ;  and  she  herself  fetched 
him  a  cigar,  which  he  lit,  drawing  his  chair  a  little  bit  back  from 
the  table.  She  went  and  stood  by  the  fireplace,  her  back  to  the 
empty  grate.  When  the  waiter  had  removed  the  things,  and  they 
were  once  more  left  alone,  she  said, 

"  Now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something.  Perhaps  you  won't 
be  surprised.  You  say  you  have  had  some  experience  lately  of 
human  nature — meanness,  and  that.  Well,  so  have  I.  What  would 
you  say,  now,  if  I  told  you  that  it  was  Charlie  Bernard  who 
threw  me  over?" 

There  was  a  curious  smile  on  her  lips,  somewhat  belied  by  the 
look  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  should  say  you  had  had  a  quarrel,"  said  Foster,  prudently, 
"  which  you  will  soon  make  up  again." 

"  There  was  no  quarrel,"  she  said,  with  an  increasing  harshness 
in  her  voice.  "  He  deliberately  threw  me  over — left  me — for 
some  bar-maid  or  other  at  Chester — going  to  marry  her,  I  hear. 
And  I  made  that  man!  What  was  he  five  years  ago?  You 
know.  Scarce  enough  to  buy  himself  a  toothpick.  And  there  at 
the  Ackworth  sale  last  week  he  gave  twelve  hundred  guineas  for 
Trigonella  and  eight  hundred  for  Master  of  Roy.  Two  thousand 
guineas  at  one  sale — how  did  he  come  by  that,  do  you  think?" 

"  He  has  had  the  devil's  own  luck,"  Foster  said,  pensively, 
"  Everything  he  has  touched  has  turned  to  gold." 

"  And  who  put  him  in  the  way  of  making  a  single  farthing  ?" 
she  demanded.  "Luck?  What  is  your  luck  if  you've  nothing 
to  back  it  with?  You  know  well  enough  what  I  did  for  that 
man.  Well  ?  Don't  you  think  I  take  it  very  quietly  ?  You  used 
to  gird  at  me  because  of  my  temper.     Am  I  in  a  temper?" 

He  looked  at  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  But  if  you  got  a  chance  of  doing 
Charlie  Bernard  a  mischief,  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  in  his  shoes !" 

"Vitriol-throwing?"  she  said,  with  a  harsh  laugh,  "Oh  no,  I 
won't  spoil  his  beauty  —  I'll  leave  that  to  the  bar-maid,  and  wel- 
come," 

And  then,  with  a  surprising  suddenness,  she  stepped  for\fard  to 


270  SABINA    ZEMBKA. 

the  table,  and  put  her  clinched  fist  on  it ;  and  her  eyes  were  spar- 
kling with  rage,  and  her  face  was  thin  and  hard  and  white. 

"No,"  she  said,  with  a  fury  that  was  all  the  more  obvious  from 
licr  efforts  to  conceal  it,  "  I  won't  spoil  his  beauty,  but  I'll  ruin 
liim.  I  tell  you  I  won't  rest  in  my  grave  until  I  have  ruined  that 
man.     I  made  him  ;  and  I'll  break  him  !" 

"  You  won't  find  it  easy  to  get  the  better  of  Charlie  Bernard," 
Foster  observed. 

**  Bah  !  that's  all  you  know,"  she  said,  contemptuously.  "  That's 
all  you  know.  But  I  understand  Charlie  Bernard  down  to  his 
boots;  and  I  tell  you  he's  a  fool.  He  thinks  he  can't  go  wrong. 
The  luck  has  been  with  him  so  long  that  his  head's  turned.  And 
that's  where  I'll  have  my  gentleman,  see  if  I  don't?" 

She  resumed  her  station  by  the  fireplace.  That  sharp  ebullition 
of  rage  over,  she  strove  to  appear  perfectly  calm.  But  her  mouth 
was  cruel. 

"  And  how  do  you  propose  to  get  at  him  ?"  Foster  asked. 

"That's  my  affair,"  she  said,  shortly.  "But  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you  that  I  mean  it.  I  shouldn't  mind  telling  all  the  world ; 
for  I  dare  say  Charlie  Bernard  himself  has  a  shrewd  notion  that  I 
will  do  my  little  best.  And  I  haven't  been  in  all  his  stable  secrets 
for  over  four  years  for  nothing." 

And  then  she  said,  looking  hard  at  him, 

"Of  course  I  should  want  somebody  to  stand  in  with  me.  I 
couldn't  appear  myself.  Charlie  Bernard  is  conceited;  but  he  is 
wary  enough,  and  he'll  be  watching  me  for  many  a  day  to  come. 
No  ;  I  must  have  a  trustworthy  agent  to  do  the  trick  for  me  ;  and 
if  we  pulled  it  off,  it  would  be  well  worth  his  while." 

That  she  was  referring  to  himself  was  clear  enough. 

"But  I  don't  quite  understand  what  you  are  driving  at,"  he 
said.     "  Do  you  mean  fair  means  or  foul  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  any  difference  on  the  turf,"  she  said, 
saucily. 

"  Well,  I  have  no  reason  to  be  nasty  particklar,"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh.  "  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  hit  back  with  the  same 
kind  of  stick  that  hits  you.  If  nobbling  is  to  be  the  game,  it 
shouldn't  be  all  on  one  side.  But  it's  a  very  dangerous  game,  and 
not  often  tried  nowadays ;  at  least,  it  doesn't  succeed  very  often. 
They  managed  it  pretty  well  with  Cherry-band,  though." 

"Well,  what  do  you  say?"  she  asked,  abruptly. 


AN    OLD    FEIEND.  271 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  in  it.  You  must  look  out  for  somebody  else. 
I'm  broke.  Of  course  you  want  somebody  who  can  weigh  in  with 
coin." 

She  paused  for  a  second  or  two.  ♦ 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  Of  course  I  should  like  to  have 
some  one  go  in  equal  risks  with  me,  if  I  was  quite  sure  that  at 
the  last  minute  he  wouldn't  play  his  own  game,  and  land  me.  Be- 
sides, I  don't  know  any  one  I  could  trust.  I  could  trust  you  be- 
cause it  would  be  worth  your  while." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Oh,  we'd  better  speak  plain.  I  mean  business  this  time." 
There  was  a  flash  of  fire  in  her  eyes.  "  I  tell  you  if  I  had  to  sell 
every  stick  and  stone  that  I  possess — if  I  had  to  sell  the  clothes 
off  my  back — I  would  do  it  to  bring  that  man  to  the  gutter.  And 
it's  there  I'll  have  him,  you  mark  my  words.  And  I'm  not  in  a 
hurry — no,  no — I  can  wait  and  watch  my  chance.  I'm  not  going 
to  spoil  it  by  rushing  it.  I'm  not  going  to  show  my  hand  until 
I've  got  the  odd  trick  safe  and  sure.  But  then — then  I'll  let  him 
know.  What  will  he  take  to,  do  you  think  ?  I  should  like  to  see 
him  a  billiard-marker  at  Gratti's." 

She  rang  the  bell. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  forgot  to  ask  for  liqueurs." 

"  I  would  rather  have  a  brandy-and-soda,"  he  said. 

*'  Very  well,"  she  said,  and  that  was  ordered. 

Then  she  went  over  and  sate  down  by  the  table.  In  her  eager- 
ness she  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  Foster  was  willing  to 
become  her  ally. 

"  Do  you  know  Joe  Cantly  ?"  she  said,  when  the  waiter  had 
brought  in  the  brandy-and-soda,  and  gone  away  again. 

"  Only  to  speak  to." 

"  If  we  could  only  make  sure  of  Joe  Cantly,  the  whole  thing 
would  be  as  simple  as  possible.  Bernard  and  he  are  hand-and- 
glove  in  everything.  But  he  would  be  a  difficult  customer  to  get 
at.     He  prides  himself  on  his  professional  honor !" 

"What!"  Foster  exclaimed.  "  Why,  they  declared  lie  roped 
Redhampton  at  Liverpool." 

"It's  a  lie,"  she  said,  bluntly.  "I  was  there.  He  no  more 
pulled  that  horse  than  I  did.  All  the  stable  were  backing  him, 
Cantly  as  well.  No,  I  believe  Joe  Cantly  has  so  far  ridden  as 
fair  and  square  as  any  jock  that  ever  breathed." 


272  SABINA    ZEMBKA. 

"  Every  man  has  liis  price,"  Foster  said,  as  lie  went  to  tlie 
mantle-piece  for  another  cigar. 

"  Yes,  but  I  imagine  Joe  Cantl y's  price  is  rather  beyond  me. 
There^might  be  other  means,"  she  added,  musingly. 

Foster  looked  up,  but  neither  spoke  nor  smiled.  What  he  said 
to  himself,  however,  was:  "Does  this  woman  really  think  she 
has  youth  and  beauty  enough  to  inflame  the  heart  of  that  little 
shred  of  a  jock  ?" 

"  Gratitude  doesn't  count,  I  suppose,"  she  continued.  "  And 
yet  he  ought  to  be  grateful  to  me.  Why,  he  was  only  a  stable- 
lad  when  I  went  first  to  Doncaster.  It  was  I  who  got  the  gen- 
eral to  give  him  his  first  mount,  because  I  liked  the  look  of  the 
boy.  I  wish  I  could  have  an  hour's  talk  with  him,  just  to  see 
whether  his  devotion  to  my  dear  friend  Charlie  Bernard  is  of  an 
unusual  kind." 

And  then  she  said, 

"  W^ell,  are  you  going  to  stand  in  with  me  ?" 

"  I  should  like  to  know  more  distinctly  what  you're  aiming 
at,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  expect  I  can  put  it  all  down  on  paper  at  a  moment's 
notice  ?"  she  retorted.  "  Well,  yes,  I  could.  I'm  aiming  at  the 
ruin  of  Mr.  Charles  Bernard ;  that's  about  it ;  and  it's  got  to  be 
done,  if  a  woman  can  do  it.  You  mean  the  way  of  doing  it  ? 
Well,  that  wants  time.  But  I  know  this,  that  it  is  bad  luck  that 
makes  most  men  reckless,  but  it  is  good  luck  that  makes  Bernard 
reckless.  He'll  back  his  fancy  through  thick  and  thin  ;  no  hedg- 
ing for  him  ;  no,  no  ;  my  gentleman  knows  a  horse  when  he  sees 
one.  The  sporting  papers  have  turned  his  head,  that's  the  fact. 
He  thinks  he  is  bound  to  be  right.  And  he  is  conceited  ;  and 
knows  that  big  figures  make  the  stable-boys  gape.  There's  but 
the  one  end  for  a  man  like  that — when  it  is  properly  prepared  for 
him.     Now,  do  you  understand  V 

"  It  has  been  done,"  he  said,  absently. 

"  When  do  you  go  up  to  town  ?" 

This  startled  him  out  of  his  reverie. 

"  I  don't  know  quite.  I  went  out  to  see  Raby  this  morning. 
He  has  been  trying  to  square  things  a  little  for  me — and  there's  a 
young  fellow  called  Russell  who  has  turned  out  a  bit  of  a  trump — " 

"I  am  going  back  to  Doncaster  to-morrow,"  she  said.  "And 
in  about  three  weeks'  time  I  expect  to  be  in  London.     If  you  are 


A  THREAT.  273 

there  then,  call  on  me  at  the  Northern  Counties  Hotel,  Jerrayn 
Street.     You  won't  forget  the  address  ?" 

He  pencilled  it  down  in  his  memorandum-book. 

"  There  are  some  writs  out  against  me,  that's  the  fact,"  he  said. 
"And  people  are  so  unreasonable.  Of  course  you  can't  give  them 
money  if  you  haven't  got  it ;  all  the  summonses  and  county  courts 
and  writs  in  the  world  won't  create  money  where  it  doesn't  hap- 
pen to  be." 

"  Ab,  well,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Fairservice,  who  was  a  business- 
like woman,  "  if  you  are  in  so  bad  a  hole  as  that,  if  you  can't  get 
about,  it's  hardly  worth  while  talking  about  that  little  scheme. 
But  you  say  things  may  mend.  Well,  come  and  see  me  in  Jerinyn 
Street  if  they  do.  I  may  have  something  to  tell  you  by  that 
time — something  to  your  advantage,  as  the  advertisements  say. 
You  look  as  if  you  wanted  it,  don't  you.  Master  Fred  ?" 

Presently  he  rose  to  go ;  and  she  insisted  on  his  putting  the 
remaining  cigars  in  his  pocket.  On  the  top  of  the  staircase,  as 
she  bade  him  good-by,  she  said, 

"  Jermyn  Street,  then.     Au  revoiry 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
A  THREAT. 

One  morning  Sabina  was  seated  alone  and  at  work — painting 
some  Howers  on  a  terra-cotta  vase.  She  earned  a  little  that  way 
now,  thanks  to  Janie's  intercession  with  the  manager  of  a  well- 
known  firm  in  Oxford  Street.  It  was  but  a  small  addition  to  her 
income,  yet  it  was  something;  and  she  considered  it  as  peculiarly 
her  own,  and  made  no  scruple  about  devoting  it  entirely  to  the 
comfort  and  welfare  and  amusement  of  her  boy.  As  for  her  oth- 
er money,  every  farthing  that  she  could  save  by  the  exercise  of 
the  most  rigid  and  constant  economy  was  claimed  by  Foster, 
whose  demands  were  becoming  more  and  more  peremptory  and 
extortionate.  Not  only  that,  but  he  had  begun  once  more  to  in- 
sist on  her  going  to  her  father  to  obtain  some  more  suitable  pro- 
vision ;  and  plainly  he  warned  her  that,  as  soon  as  he  was  come 
south  again,  he  would  see  that  the  present  condition  of  affairs 
12* 


274  SABIN'A   ZEMBRa. 

should  be  brought  to  an  end.  Sabina  tore  up  those  letters  with 
a  sigh.  She  knew  that  appealing  to  her  father  would  be  of  no 
avail.  And  even  if  their  income  were  to  be  doubled  or  trebled, 
what  hope  was  there  that  Foster  would  change  in  his  mode  of 
life  ?  Indeed  she  tried  hard  not  to  think  of  these  things,  and 
kept  herself  busily  occupied  in  tending  the  child,  and  looking  af- 
ter the  house,  and  filling  up  every  spare  moment  with  this  terra- 
cotta painting.  But  there  was  a  shadow  ever  present  on  her  brow, 
and  her  manner  was  grave ;  and  she  was  a  good  deal  paler  than 
the  Sabina  of  old.  It  was  only  when  her  boy  stretched  out  his 
arms  towards  her  that  a  soft  lustre  of  happiness  shone  in  the  mild, 
beautiful  eyes. 

She  was  seated  at  the  table  in  her  small  parlor  when  she  heard 
a  slight  tapping  at  the  door. 
"Come  in!" 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,  ma'am,"  said  the  little  maid-servant, 
and  therewith  Captain  Raby  stepped  into  the  room. 

She  had  been  so  much  engaged  with  her  work  that  she  had  not 
heard  him  open  the  front  gate;  and  now  she  was  so  surprised  by 
his  unexpected  appearance — having  some  swift  momentary  recol- 
lection of  the  way  she  had  received  him  on  a  former  visit — that 
Avhen  he  said,  "  I  have  brought  you  some  news  of  your  husband, 
Mrs,  Foster,"  she  involuntarily  asked  him  to  be  seated.  lie  took 
a  chair,  put  his  hat  on  the  floor  beside  him,  and  began  to  pull  oflE 
his  gloves. 

"  Yes — I — I  happened  to  be  in  the  neighborhood,"  he  began, 
and  he  had  evidently  forgiven  her  curtness  on  that  former  occa- 
sion, for  he  strove  to  be  most  amiable  in  manner,  "  and  I  saw  Fred 
last  week — the  week  before  it  was,  nearly — and  I  thought  I  might 
as  well  drop  in  and  let  you  know  how  he  was  getting  along.  Not 
very  well  at  this  moment,  I  am  afraid,  though  there  is  something 
of  a  prospect  for  him  ;  indeed  I  have  a  little  commission  on  that 
subject  from  our  mutual  friend  Mr.  Russell,  whom  you  may  re- 
member, perhaps." 

She  paused  for  a  second,  she  did  not  answer. 
"  No,  as  I  say,  I  don't  think  Fred  Foster  could  be  in  a  worse 
plight  than  he  is  just  now.  You  see,  he  always  was  such  a  head- 
strong fellow.  When  things  went  wrong  with  him,  nothing  would 
do  but  that  he  must  force  them  right ;  now  you  can't  force  things 
riixht  if  luck  is  ao-ainst  von," 


A   THREAT.  275 

"  Have  you  any  particular  news  of  my  husband  V  she  inter- 
posed, somewhat  coldly. 

"Nothing  very  satisfactory,  nothing  that  you  would  much  care 
to  hear,  perhaps,"  he  answered,  as  he  quietly  twisted  his  mustache, 
and  regarded  her.  Then  he  added,  with  an  ironical  smile,  "Of 
course  there  are  compensating  circumstances  in  every  lot,  and  Fos- 
ter has  at  least  hit  upon  one  old  acquaintance  of  his — an  old  flame 
of  his,  if  I  mistake  not — a  Mrs.  Fairservice,  who  is  pretty  well  off. 
But  she  is  a  very  shrewd  woman,  is  Polly  Fairservice,  and  sharp; 
I  don't  think  she  would  be  inclined  to  help  him,  unless  she  saw  it 
to  be  to  her  own  advantage." 

Sabina's  pale  face  flushed  slightly. 

"  Is  that  what  you  came  to  tell  me.  Captain  Raby  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh  dear,  no,"  he  answered,  blandly,"!  only  came  to  consult 
you  as  a  friend.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  believe  that.  But  the 
last  time  I  called  on  you  you  seemed  to  think  it  a  very  unwar- 
rantable intrusion.  Why  ?  I  offer  you  my  services — in  any  way 
you  choose  to  command  them." 

"  I  have  no  need  of  them,"  she  said,  stiffly. 

"But  you  might  have  need  of  them." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  briefly  why  you  are  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will.  I  have  come  in  your  own  interests.  I  have  come 
to  consult  your  wishes.  Believe  it  or  not,  I  am  come  as  your 
friend — why,  how  otherwise  should  I  come  ?  Why  should  I  both- 
er myself  about  Fred  Foster's  affairs  except  for  your  sake  ?  I 
think  you  might  recognize  that  a  little.  W^ell,  now,  I  want  to 
know   what  you   want  done.     Practically,   Foster   has   deserted 

you-" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  he  has  done  nothing  of  the  sort;  and  I 
will  not  stay  to  hear  my  husband's  actions  discussed  in  any  way 
whatsoever,"  Sabina  said  ;  and  she  pushed  away  her  painting  ma- 
terials, as  if,  on  the  least  provocation,  she  meant  to  leave  the  room. 

"Very  well;  but  the  fact  remains,"  he  said,  quietly.  "Now 
this  is  a  very  miserable  life  you  are  leading— alone,  away  from 
your  friends,  with  no  amusement,  with  no  one  to  protect  you — " 

"  That,  at  least,  is  true,"  she  said. 

He  continued  without  heeding  the  interruption:  "And  as  far 
as  I  can  guess,  supporting  a  worthless  fellow  who  never  could  earn 
his  own  living,  and  who  never  will — " 

"Captain  Raby,  you  came  here  as  a  friend — " 


276  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  Of  yours,"  he  interposed.  "  One  moment.  I  ask  you  to  lis- 
ten to  what  I  have  to  say.  It  rests  with  me  to  decide  whether 
your  husband  is  to  come  back  here  or  not." 

She  stared  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  you  are  surprised,  naturally ;  but  such  is  the  case,"  he 
continued.  "  Foster's  affairs  are  in  such  a  precious  muddle  that 
he  dare  not  show  himself  in  any  of  his  old  haunts.  Very  well. 
There  is  only  one  man  in  the  country  who  is  fool  enough  to  think 
of  helping  him  out  of  the  hole — and  that  is  Johnny  Russell;  and 
Russell  will  act  on  my  advice.  Suppose  I  say  yes ;  and  get  some 
money  from  Jack  Russell,  and  square  certain  people,  and  pacify 
others,  so  that  Foster  may  return  to  London,  and  come  here  also, 
what  are  you  to  expect?  Do  you  think  he  will  ever  be  other  than 
he  is?  Would  you  like  to  have  him  back  ?  Would  it  be  to  your 
gain,  do  you  think?  You  see  now  that  it  is  as  a  friend  I  have 
come  to  you — to  consult  your  interests,  and  yours  alone." 

He  spoke  rapidly  and  plausibly,  and  she  was  a  little  bewildered. 

"But — but — in  any  case  he  must  be  coming  back  here,"  she 
stammered. 

He  smiled. 

"  Without  Jack  Russell's  help,  I  think  it  will  be  a  very  long 
time,  indeed,  before  Master  Fred  will  show  his  face  on  any  race- 
course in  England." 

"But  here — to  his  own  house!"  she  said. 

"The  writters  would  be  after  him  like  a  pack  of  wolves.  No; 
you  may  rest  assured,  dear  Mrs.  Foster,  that  we  can  keep  your 
husband  from  worrying  you,  if  you  wish  it.  If  you  will  only  look 
at  your  position  in  a  sensible  way  ;  look  at  it  as  any  woman  of  the 
world  would  look  at  it;  consider  what  your  life  is  likely  to  be  if 
Foster  comes  back  penniless  and  desperate  ;  then,  I  think,  you  will 
take  the  obviously  prudent  decision  of  leaving  him  where  he  is. 
Why,  the  whole  situation  is  absurd.  A  beautiful  woman  like  you 
— and  living  in  a  place  like  this,  the  two  things  are  not  compat- 
ible." 

Sabina  rose,  her  lips  very  pale,  and  she  grasped  the  back  of  the 
chair  with  her  hand. 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  know  whether  you  mean  to  insult  me, 
Captain  Raby — " 

"  I  insult  you  !  Is  it  an  insult  to  call  a  woman  beautiful  ?  Then 
your  glass  must  insult  you  every  minute  in  the  day  !" 


A    THREAT.  277 

"  But  I  must  ask  you  to  go.  I  do  not  wish  to  have  my  hus- 
band's affairs,  or  mine,  interfered  with  by  any  third  person — least 
of  all  by  you." 

"  Oh,  but  really,  now—" 

"  Surely,  surely,"  she  said,  with  indignation  in  her  voice,  "  you 
will  go  when  I  ask  you.     You  profess  to  be  a  gentleman  !" 

"  Of  course  I  obey  you,"  he  said,  as  he  slowly  took  up  his  hat 
and  went  to  the  door.  "  But  please  remember  it  is  for  you  to 
decide.     And  you  may  change  your  mind." 

When  he  had  gone,  she  stood  for  a  second  irresolute — for  there 
were  still  pride  and  indignation  in  the  firm-set  lines  of  her  mouth  ; 
but  the  next  moment  her  lips  began  to  quiver  a  little,  and  pres- 
ently she  sank  down  into  her  chair  again,  and  bent  forward  her 
head  between  her  two  arms  out-stretched  on  the  table,  and  was 
crying  and  sobbing  like  a  child.  For  she  had  been  much  alone  of 
hite,  and  somehow  she  had  fallen  away  from  the  high  courage  of 
the  Sabina  of  old ;  now  and  again  a  kind  of  despair  would  seize 
her,  and  she  could  have  wished  to  have  done  with  this  world  and 
its  ways  altogether — if  only  her  child  were  asleep  by  her  side. 

But  if  Captain  Raby  imagined  that,  by  simply  doing  nothing, 
he  could  keep  Fred  Foster  in  banishment  in  the  north,  lie  was  mis- 
taken. Quite  unexpectedly  one  evening  Foster  made  his  appear- 
ance at  Wayside  Cottage, 

"  Why  do  you  stare  ?"  he  said,  sulkily,  to  Sabina.  "  I  am  not 
a  ghost.     I  want  something  to  drink." 

He  looked  travel-stained  and  tired,  and  his  boots  were  dusty. 

"I  am  afraid  there  is  nothing  in  the  house,"  she  said. 

"Nothing?" 

"  We  never  use  anything  of  the  kind  ;  the  girl  has  beer-money 
instead  of  beer,  so  we  have  no  need  for  it." 

"  Well,  then,  send  to  the  Checkers — it  will  be  open  yet.  Whis- 
key, gin,  any  poison  they  have.  Why  don't  you  keep  decent  spirits 
in  the  house  ?  Saving,  I  suppose — cheese-paring — as  if  that  was 
any  good.  Well,  there's  got  to  be  an  end  of  that  now.  The  far- 
thing system  has  got  to  be  abolished." 

She  went  to  give  instructions  to  the  raaid-scrvant.  When  she 
came  back  he  said, 

"  I  suppose  you  haven't  been  to  your  father?" 

"  No,  Fred,  I—" 

"  I  thought  not.    Well,  T  have  come  here  to  see  that  you  do  go. 


278  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

and  that  you  make  your  going  worth  while.  There's  to  be  no  non- 
sense tliis  time,  I  can  tell  you  ;  it  isn't  a  time  for  nonsense." 

"  I  am  quite  sure,  Fred,"  she  pleaded,  "  that  it  won't  be  of  the 
slightest  use." 

"  You've  got  to  make  it  be  of  use,"  he  replied,  "  I  must  have 
two  hundred  pounds  within  the  next  three  weeks,  and  that  only 
as  a  beginning." 

"  You  know  it  is  impossible !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind.  But  I  do  know  that  it  depends 
on  you,  if  only  you  will  put  your  fine  feelings  in  your  pocket." 

"  What  can  I  do,  Fred  ?  What  am  I  to  say  ?"  she  asked,  in  a 
kind  of  bewilderment. 

"The  first  thing  you  can  do,"  he  said,  coolly  and  methodically, 
"is  to  sit  down  and  write  a  letter  to  my  father,  asking  him  for 
fifty  pounds.  If  you  pitch  the  appeal  strong  enough,  you  will  get 
it  easily.  Very  well.  I  can  put  my  hands  on  the  remaining  hun- 
dred and  fifty  as  soon  as  I  can  show  a  reasonable  prospect  of  pay- 
ing it  back  by  instalments;  and  it  is  for  7jour  father  to  provide 
that  by  doubling  your  allowance.     That  is  clear  enough,  isn't  it  ?" 

"And  even  if  you  were  to  get  the  money,  Fred — " 

"  Well  ?"  he  said,  for  she  had  hesitated. 

"  Would  things  be  any  better  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said,  roughly.  "Sentiment, 
I  suppose.  Well,  it  isn't  a  time  for  sentiment  with  me,  I  can  tell 
you.  And  when  there  is  a  chance  of  my  pulling  through,  I'm  not 
going  to  lose  it  without  a  fight.  It's  you  that  have  got  to  provide 
the  means.     And  that  money  I'm  going  to  have." 

"  But  why  should  you  threaten,  Fred  ?"  she  remonstrated,  for  his 
attitude  towards  her  was  quite  menacing.  "  If  I  can  get  the  money 
for  you,  you  know  I  will.    Don't  I  give  you  every  farthing  I  can  ?" 

"  Oh,  these  paltry  pittances  are  no  good.  I  tell  you  this  is  a 
serious  matter.  It's  my  last  chance.  And  if  I  miss  it,  then  I'm 
off  to  America  or  Australia,  and  that's  the  last  you'll  see  of  me." 

Here  the  girl  came  back  from  the  Checkers,  and  Foster,  having 
mixed  himself  some  drink,  lit  his. pipe. 

"But  I  hope  to  get  even  with  Raby  before  that,"  he  said, 
moodily. 

"  What  has  he  been  doing  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  only  like  the  rest !  It's  wonderful  how  you  find  out  what 
human  nature  is  when  you're  down  on  your  luck.     Quite  useful 


A   THREAT.  2*79 

it  is ;  it  gives  you  such  an  insight.  Here  was  Raby  professing  to 
be  great  friends  with  me,  offering  to  go  up  to  London  to  square  up 
matters  for  me,  pretending  he  had  begged  Johnny  Russell  to  give 
me  a  hand.  Why,  it  was  by  the  merest  accident  I  met  Russell. 
Well,  I  will  say,  he  is  a  good  fellow,  if  he  wasn't  such  a  fool.  And 
then  he  tells  me  that  Raby  had  refused  to  take  the  trouble,  and 
was  so  kind  as  to  say  that  the  country  air  was  better  for  me  than 
coming  to  town.     But  I'll  be  even  with  him  yet." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  Captain  Raby  came  down  here  ?"  she 
asked. 

lie  looked  up  angrily  and  suspiciously. 

"  What  was  he  down  here  for?" 

"  He  professed  to  be  anxious  to  serve  you." 

"By  coming  down  here?  Then  I  will  tell  you  the  less  you 
have  to  say  to  Raby  the  better." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  have  anything  to  say  to  him,"  she  answered, 
calmly ;  "  and  I  do  not  think  he  is  likely  to  come  here  again." 

The  little  maid-servant  now  brought  in  supper,  but  he  could 
not  be  persuaded  to  have  any.  Perhaps  the  simple  repast  of  cold 
beef,  bread,  lettuce,  and  water  did  not  look  very  tempting.  Sa- 
bina  sat  down  to  the  table  by  herself. 

"  You've  never  once  asked  about  the  boy,  Fred,"  she  said,  re- 
proachfully. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  he's  all  right,"  he  said,  with  some  impatience. 
"  If  he  hadn't  been  I  should  have  lieard  soon  enough,  I  dare  say. 
You  know,  when  I  see  you  sitting  down  to  a  supper  like  that,  it 
looks  ridiculous,  and  it  is  ridiculous.  It  is  perfectly  absurd.  No 
one  would  believe  it.  Of  course  my  father  isn't  as  rich  as  your 
father;  still  between  them  we  should  be  living  in  a  perfectly  dif- 
ferent way.  Water !  '  Drops  of  crystal  water  !'  Not  a  glass  of 
sherry  in  the  house.  Why,  what  do  you  suppose  your  people  are 
doing  at  home  just  now  ?  Your  father  at  the  head  of  a  big  din- 
ner-table, all  the  men  smoking  and  passing  the  wine,  the  women 
gone  up  to  the  drawing-room,  and  thinking  it  about  time  to  get 
ready  to  go  down  to  the  reception  at  the  Foreign  Office.  That's 
living.  And  you  are  of  the  same  family.  Cold  beef  and  lettuce  ! 
You  know  it's  perfectly  absurd  !" 

"But  we  had  plenty  to  live  upon,  Fred,  when  we  married," 
she  ventured  to  remonstrate.  "  Surely,  in  a  moderate  way,  we 
liad  abundance  of  everything  \vc  could  want." 


280  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"Yes,  because  I  had  a  good  turn  of  luck  then,"  he  retorted. 
"It  was  all  very  well  then,  and  you  were  satisfied.  But  now, 
when  the  luck's  against  me,  now  you  complain," 

She  glanced  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"  I  don't  think,"  she  said,  slowly — "  I  don't  think  you  ought 
to  say  that  of  me,  Fred." 

"Oh,  there  are  different  ways  of  complaining;  it  isn't  all  done 
by  talking.  However,  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  That's  not 
what  I'm  come  about  here  to-night.  I'm  going  to  have  one  more 
try  for  it  before  I  skip  across  the  seas,  and  you've  got  to  help  me." 

When  she  had  finished  supper,  and  the  little  girl  had  come  in 
to  clear  the  table,  he  said  to  her, 

"  Now,  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  sit  down  and  write  that 
letter  to  ray  father;  then  I  will  look  at  it  and  see  if  it  will  do." 

She  hesitated  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  Fred,  don't  think  me  unwilling  to  do  anything  I  can  for  you. 
But — but  I  would  rather  go  to  my  own  father  than  write  to  yours 
for  money — " 

"  You've  got  to  do  both,  and  that's  the  fact,"  he  said,  bluntly. 
"  This  is  not  a  time  for  half-measures." 

She  went  rather  sadly  to  her  desk. 

"  I  must  see  what  he  says  in  his  last  letter,"  she  said.  "  He  is 
more  anxious  than  ever  that  I  should  go  and  live  with  him  at 
Missenden." 

"Yes,  I  dare  say,"  Foster  remarked.  "Very  likely.  But 
we're  not  going  into  the  catacombs  just  yet." 

She  sate  down  at  the  little  table. 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?" 

"Don't  you  know  yourself?  Better  not  tell  him  I  am  here, 
anyway.  Can't  you  ask  for  it  on  account  of  the  boy  ? — that 
would  fetch  him.  Or  you  can  blame  me  for  it — that  will  fetch 
him  too ;  say  I  left  some  bills  unpaid — that  is  true  enough  ;  and 
the  people  are  worrying  for  their  money,  which  is  also  as  true  as 
the  gospel.     Anyhow,  pitch  it  strong." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  humiliation  with  which  Sabina 
set  about  writing  this  letter;  but  she  wrote  it,  nevertheless;  and 
although,  on  looking  it  over,  he  grumbled  that  the  appeal  was  not 
made  sufficiently  plaintive,  he  at  length  forbore  to  urge  her  fur- 
ther, and  she  was  allowed  to  put  the  letter  in  an  envelope,  to  be 
posted  as  soon  as  possible. 


A   THREAT.  281 

But  the  next  morning  his  manner  towards  her  was  of  a  much 
more  peremptory  cast;  for  he  had  now  to  give  her  instructions 
about  the  mission  to  her  own  father;  and  that  was  of  a  far  more 
serious  nature  than  the  mere  borrowing  of  a  temporary  fifty 
pounds. 

"  You  understand  me,"  he  said,  as  he  was  preparing  to  leave, 
"  that  I  make  you  distinctly  responsible  for  whatever  may  hap- 
pen. It's  absurd  to  imagine  that  a  daughter  can't  get  her  father 
to  be  a  little  bit  generous  to  her,  if  she  goes  about  it  the  right 
way.  Of  course,  if  you  stand  on  your  dignity,  so  will  he.  If 
you  give  yourself  airs,  he  will  be  glad  of  it ;  it  will  be  an  excuse 
for  his  saying  no,  and  he  will  save  the  money.  And  mind  you 
leave  me  out  of  it.  Tell  him  anything  you  like  about  me — tell 
him  I'm  in  a  cancer  hospital,  or  in  America,  or  in  Van  Diemen's 
Land,  anywhere  where  his  money  is  not  likely  to  be  of  service  to 
me.  It's  for  you  and  the  boy.  And  considering  the  circum- 
stances, he  might  be  willing  to  plank  down  a  good  round  sum  to 
begin  with.     Everything  will  depend  on  how  you  do  it — " 

"  Fred,  I  will  do  my  best,"  she  pleaded,  "  but  don't  be  disap- 
pointed if  he  refuses.  Is  there  no  other  way  you  can  save  your- 
self? It  seems  so  terrible  to  have  everything  depending  on  the 
one  chance." 

"There  is  no  other  way,  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  angrily.  "And 
of  course  if  you  go  shrinking  and  cowering,  and  assured  of  fail- 
ure, you  will  fail.  Very  well ;  I  tell  you  I  will  hold  you  respon- 
sible for  what  happens.  But  whatever  does  happen,  you  may  be 
quite  certain  of  one  thing :  if  I  am  forced  to  leave  the  country, 
if  I  have  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  days  in  Australia,  I  mean  to 
take  the  boy  with  me  when  I  go.     So  you  just  remember  that." 

It  was  little  he  knew  of  the  effect  that  these  last  words  had 
upon  Sabina,  for  he  uttered  them  at  the  open  door,  and  without 
turning  to  look  round,  he  walked  dowa  to  the  little  gate,  and  was 
gone. 


282  SABINA   ZKMBRA. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
A    CRY    OF    DESPAIR, 

She  was  absolutely  stunned  and  bewildered  by  this  threat;  ter- 
ror kept  her  motionless;  she  stood  there  like  a  statue,  aghast  and 
white ;  and  then,  urged  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she  went  swiftly  up 
the  stair,  broke  into  the  room,  snatched  the  boy  from  the  nurse's 
knee,  and  wound  her  arms  round  him,  and  pulled  him  close  to  her 
bosom. 

"My  darling!  my  darling!"  she  cried. 

No  tears  came  to  her  aid — she  was  too  dismayed  for  that ;  she 
could  only  hold  him  tight  to  her ;  and  as  she  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  in  a  very  agony  of  alarm  and  wild  conjecture,  she  ut- 
tered from  time  to  time  breathless  little  moans,  and  talked  to  her- 
self in  broken  ejaculations, 

"  He  cannot — he  cannot  take  my  boy  from  me — the  one  thing 
I  have  on  earth — the  one  thing — and  that  to  be  taken  too  !  God 
help  me!  Surely  God  will  help  me,  if  man  will  not.  My  lamb! 
If  only  we  were  lying  dead  together,  that  would  be  the  best  thing 
for  us  both," 

"  What  is  it,  ma'am  ?  what  is  the  matter  ?"  the  little  uiaid-serv- 
ant  said,  in  great  concern. 

But  Sabina  paid  no  heed.  She  was  as  one  quite  distracted. 
She  clasped  the  boy  to  her,  and  moaned  over  him  as  though  her 
heart  were  breaking,  and  held  his  cheek  to  hers,  "  My  pretty  one! 
— ray  pretty  one !"  she  said.  For  in  this  first  bewilderment  of 
fear  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  doubt  the  power  of  the  father  to 
take  the  child  away  from  her ;  and  well  she  knew  Fred  Foster's 
passionate  and  reckless  malice  when  he  was  thwarted.  And  then 
those  long  years  that  rose  as  a  ghastly  vision  before  her  eyes — 
herself  a  lone  woman,  broken-hearted  and  hopeless — her  boy  grow- 
ing up  without  her  care  in  some  distant  part  of  the  world.  And 
if  these  two  were  ever  to  meet,  they  would  be  strangers.  They 
would  not  know  each  other.  They  might  pass,  each  other  in  the 
street  without  recognition. 


A   CRT   OF   DESPAIR,  283 

Then  of  a  sudden  there  flasLed  through  her  burning  brain  the 
question  whether  the  law  would  not  protect  her  against  this  fore- 
shadowed outrage.  But  here  all  was  agonizing  doubt.  Surely  the 
mother  was  the  natural  guardian  of  her  child  ;  surely  no  one  could 
take  him  away  from  her.  And  yet  she  had  a  haunting  memory 
of  having  heard — and  of  having  sympathized  with — denunciations 
of  the  iniquity  of  the  laws  of  England  on  this  very  matter.  What 
was  it  they  had  said  ?  She  could  not  tell.  She  was  too  agitated 
and  alarmed  to  think  clearly ;  her  endeavors  to  convince  herself 
of  her  safety,  and  her  shuddering  fears  that,  after  all,  he  might 
have  the  power  to  take  her  boy  away  from  her,  were  only  produc- 
tive of  mental  torture ;  and  at  last,  in  her  abject  dread  and  de- 
spair and  helplessness,  came  the  resolve  to  go  instantly  to  London, 
to  seek  aid  and  counsel  from  her  nearest  friend.  If  Janie  did  not 
know,  Janie  would  get  to  know,  and  at  once.  Life  with  this  ter- 
ror hanging  over  her  was  not  possible. 

She  gave  back  the  child  in  charge  of  the  frightened  little  maid, 
hurriedly  put  on  her  things,  and  went  out,  walking  quickly  in  the 
direction  of  the  vicarage.  The  vicar's  family  were  the  only  peo- 
ple whose  acquaintance  she  had  made  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
she  had  made  it  in  this  way.  It  appeared  that  the  households  of 
better  standing  in  that  small  part  of  the  world  had  chosen,  for 
some  reason  or  another,  to  hold  aloof  from  Mrs.  Deane,  a  proceed- 
ing which  was  of  very  little  moment  to  that  lady,  who  spent  most 
of  her  evenings  in  London  theatres  and  music-halls.  It  was  prob- 
ably owing  to  this  circumstance  that,  when  Sabina  came  to  Way- 
side Cottage,  the  vicar's  wife  did  not  call  upon  her ;  and  then 
again,  the  young  mother  was  wholly  engrossed  with  her  baby, 
and  rarely  appeared  out-of-doors,  preferring  the  solitude  and  free- 
dom of  the  garden  behind  the  cottage.  But  one  day- it  happened 
that  Sabina  had  taken  the  boy  out  in  his  perambulator  for  an  ex- 
cursion along  the  public  highway,  when  Mrs.  Lul worth,  the  clergy- 
man's wife — a  brisk  and  sensible  little  woman,  extremely  proud 
of  her  husband,  and  of  her  daughters,  and  of  her  poultiy,  and  of 
her  connection  with  the  Established  Church  of  her  native  laud — 
chanced  to  come  along,  and  so  met  them.  Now  Mrs.  Lulworth 
knew  Sabina  only  as  the  tenant  of  Wayside  Cottage,  and  had 
never  seen  her  at  close  quarters,  and  she  had  half  a  mind  to  pass 
by  without  speaking.  But  just  as  she  came  quite  near,  Sabina 
looked  up,  and  the   elder  woman  cauglit  the  expression  of  the 


284  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

younger  woman's  face  and  of  her  gentle  eyes.  That  was  enough. 
She  stopped.  "  What  a  beautiful  morning  for  Baby  to  be  out  1" 
"  Yes,  indeed  it  is."  "  The  dear  little  fellow  !  How  old  is  he  ?" 
That  was  the  beginning.  The  next  day  Mrs.  Lulvvorth  and  her 
troop  of  daughters  called  and  left  their  cards.  Then  one  of  the 
younger  girls,  happening  to  see  Sabina  in  the  small  front  garden, 
went  up  and  spoke  to  her,  told  her  her  name,  was  invited  into  the 
house,  and  returned  liome  with  an  account  which  might  almost 
have  equalled  one  of  Janie's  rhapsodies.  The  acquaintanceship 
thus  begun  was  soon  assured ;  and  if  these  good  people  rather 
wondered  that  they  heard  so  little  of  Mr.  Foster — for  Sabina  hard- 
ly ever  mentioned  his  name — they  had  on  the  other  hand  discov- 
ered that  their  beautiful-eyed  and  gentle-mannered  neighbor  was 
a  daughter  of  Sir  Anthony  Zembra,  and  that  appeared  to  give 
them  much  satisfaction. 

But  it  was  not  to  seek  counsel  of  this  good  little  dame  that 
Sabina  was  now  hurrying  along  to  the  vicarage;  for  she  had  no 
mind  to  tell  the  story  of  her  life  to  people  who  were  almost  stran- 
gers. When  she  arrived  at  the  house,  she  rang  the  bell,  and  a  serv- 
ant appeared. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Lulworth  at  home  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am,  she  has  gone  over  to  Banstead." 

"Or  any  of  the  young  ladies?" 

"  Oh  yes,  ma'am  ;  all  of  them.     Won't  you  step  in,  ma'am  ?" 

She  followed  the  maid  into  the  drawing-room,  and  there,  in- 
deed, through  the  open  French  windows,  she  at  once  saw  the 
whole  of  the  five  daughters — four  of  them  playing  tennis  on  the 
lawn,  the  fifth  seated  on  a  garden-chair,  reading  a  book,  all  of 
them  in  their  light-colored  summer  dresses,  and  forming  as  pretty 
a  sight  as  ope  could  wish  to  see. 

It  was  to  the  young  lady  in  the  garden-chair  that  the  servant 
addressed  herself ;  and  the  next  moment  the  book  was  thrown 
aside  and  the  reader  was  tripping  across  the  lawn  and  up  the  steps 
with  the  fleet-footedness  of  a  young  roe.  But  the  instant  she  en- 
tered the  drawing-room  the  brightness  of  her  fresh  young  English 
face  gave  way  to  a  look  of  alarm. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Foster,  no  one  is  ill  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Oh  no,"  Sabina  answered  (she  did  not  know  how  evident  was 
the  anxious  distress  written  in  her  eyes),  "I  am — am  rathei'  hur- 
ried, that  is  all.     I  have  to  go  up  to  London  suddenly,  and  you 


A    CRT    OF    DESPAIR.  285 

see  I  don't  like  to  leave  Baby  in  charge  of  the  little  girl  all  by 
herself  there.  I  was  wondering  whether  your  mamma  would  al- 
low one  of  the  maids  to  go  along  and  keep  her  company  till  the 
afternoon,  when  I  shall  be  back.  I  am  frightened  to  think  of 
anything  happening  while  I  am  away — Ann  is  a  good  little  thing 
but  nervous — " 

"  Oh,  but  that's  all  right,"  said  the  young  lady,  blithely.  "  I'll 
go  along  and  take  charge  of  the  boy  myself — " 

"Oh,  please,  no;  I  couldn't  think  of  giving  you  so  much  trou- 
ble," Sabina  protested — but  feebly  ;  for  she  knew  where  the  most 
tender  care  would  be  forthcoming. 

"  Oh,  but  yes,  yes,  yes.  Indeed  I  insist.  You  don't  know  what 
friends  we  are.  He  is  my  king-favorite  among  all  the  children 
we  know.  Did  you  hear  that  he  called  me  Cissy  the  other  day 
when  we  were  all  at  the  gate?" 

"He  talks  a  great  deal  now,"  Sabina  said — for  the  moment 
pleased  amid  all  her  trouble. 

"  But  that's  not  it,"  the  young  lady  interrupted.  "  I  am  the 
only  one  of  us  girls  whose  name  he  remembers  ;  and  you  may 
imagine  that  I  am  very  proud  of  it;  they  tell  me  I  needn't  swag- 
ger so  ;  but  he's  my  particular  friend,  anyway  ;  and  just  you  trust 
him  to  me  for  the  day,  dear  Mrs.  Foster ;  we  shall  have  the  most 
delightful  fun." 

"  It  is  really  so  very,  very  kind  of  you,"  the  grateful  mother 
said.     "  And  when  would  it  be  convenient  for  you  to  go  along  ?" 

For  answer  Miss  Cissy  darted  out  of  the  drawing-room,  whipped 
up  her  hat  that  was  lying  on  the  lawn,  and  put  it  on  her  head, 
and  was  back  in  an  instant. 

"Now,  if  you  are  going  to  the  station,  I'll  walk  as  far  as  the 
cottage  with  you.  Oh,  if  I  had  only  known,  I  could  have  made 
him  a  hundred  playthings.  But  we'll  find  out  plenty,  I  am  pret- 
ty sure." 

Even  this  brief  bit  of  companionship  was  a  comfort  to  her ; 
but  when  she  was  again  alone,  in  the  railway-carriage  going  to 
London,  the  darkest  forebodings  returned.  Nor  could  she  get  any 
enlightenment  from  thinking  over  those  cases  in  her  own  experi- 
ence where  she  had  been  partly  instrumental  in  having  children 
withdrawn  from  the  custody  of  tliis  or  that  parent — drunkenness 
being  the  invariable  cause ;  for  in  no  one  instance  had  the  law 
been  appealed  to  ;  among  these  poor  people  the  usual  course  is  to 


286  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

follow  the  recommendation  of  the  police-magistrate.  And  then 
again,  supposing  Foster  to  have  the  power  of  taking  away  her 
child,  it  was  idle  to  think  of  appealing  to  her  father  to  save  her 
from  this  cruel  wrong.  How  could  she  explain  why  this  threat 
hung  over  her  ?  Her  only  chance — and  it  was  feeble  enough,  she 
]^new — of  getting  any  money  from  her  father,  was  to  avoid  all 
mention  of  Foster.  He  was  supposed  to  be  away  somewhere — 
anywhere.  It  was  for  herself  and  her  boy  she  was  begging.  Such 
were  Fred  Foster's  last  injunctions. 

Arrived  at  Victoria  Station,  she  took  the  underground  railway 
to  Notting  Hill,  and  thence  walked  to  Walter  Lindsay's  house, 
which  Janie  and  her  husband  still  occupied.  She  was  shown  into 
the  drawing-room.  In  a  minute  or  two  Janie  made  her  appear- 
ance— in  such  a  hurry  of  delight  and  welcome  that  she  did  not 
notice  the  expression  on  her  friend's  face.  But  after  that  close 
embrace,  she  retired  a  step  to  get  a  better  look  at  her,  and  then 
she  was  startled. 

"Sabie — what  is  the  matter?"  she  exclaimed. 

For  a  moment  Sabina  did  not  speak;  she  was  afraid  of  break- 
ing down  ;  her  lips  were  tremulous.  And  then  she  caught  Janie's 
Land  as  if  for  support. 

"Janie — Janie — he  threatens  to — to  take  my  boy  away  from 
me !"  It  was  a  piteous  cry  for  help,  so  stricken  down  was  she 
by  her  terror. 

"  No — it  is  not  possible !"  Janie  said,  with  frightened  eyes. 

"My  boy — my  darling — that  was  just  all  the  world  to  me! 
My — very — life  1" 

But  here  she  gave  way  altogether,  and  sank  on  to  the  couch 
behind  her,  and  hid  her  head  in  the  cushion,  and  sobbed  and 
sobbed. 

"  My  boy — my  darling  !"  she  kept  moaning  at  intervals  between 
her  sobs.  And  then,  in  the  very  wildness  of  her  grief,  a  confes- 
sion was  wrung  from  her  that  she  had  never  uttered  before  :  "  God 
knows,  I — I  thought  I  was — unhappy  enough  ;  but — but  this  is 
more  than  I  can  bear." 

Janie  was  frightened — overawed,  perhaps ;  but  not  for  long ; 
she  summoned  all  her  courage  to  her,  and  she  knelt  down  by  her 
friend,  and  put  her  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Come,  come,  Sabie,  don't  give  wa.y  so.  Why,  how  you  fright- 
ened me!     You  think  he  can  take  your  boy  away  from  you? 


A   CRY   OF   DESPAIR.  287 

What  a  silly  notion  !  Where  is  all  your  common-sense  gone  to, 
Sabie  ?  You  poor  thing,  you  have  been  living  so  much  alone  that 
all  your  nerves  are  gone  astray,  and  anything  terrifies  you.  A 
threat!  But  what  is  a  threat?  A  threat  is  nothing.  And  it's 
your  husband,  I  suppose,  who  says  he  will  take  away  the  boy 
from  you.  I  needn't  ask.  But  he  hasn't  done  it ;  and  he  won't 
do  it;  I  suppose  you  think  there  is  no  law  in  this  country? 
Come,  come,  Sabie  dear,  pull  yourself  together,  and  tell  me  how  he 
came  to  threaten  anything  so  ridiculous." 

Janic  was  very  cheerful  and  courageous;  but  she  grew  less  so 
as  Sabina,  rather  falteringly,  told  her  tale  ;  and  at  the  end  of  it  she 
was  very  much  concerned.  For  the  truth  vras,  her  knowledge  of 
the  actual  state  of  the  law  was  no  more  exact  than  that  of  Sabina 
herself. 

"  I'll  go  and  ask  Philip ;  perhaps  he  can  tell  us." 

At  the  door,  however,  she  suddenly  paused  and  came  back. 

"  In  any  case,"  she  said,  desperately — "  in  any  case,  the  question 
need  never  arise  at  all !  What  you  have  to  do  is  to  persuade  your 
father  to  give  you  the  money  ;  then  the  whole  thing  is  right.  No 
one  will  attempt  to  take  the  boy  !" 

"  I  will  do  my  best,"  Sabina  said,  with  weary  eyes  and  sad  lips. 
**  But  I  have  no  hope  in  that  direction — none  whatever." 

Janie  went  away  to  the  studio  to  fetch  her  husband;  and  on 
their  way  back  thi-ough  the  garden  she  briefly  told  him  Sabina's 
story,  with  some  observations  on  the  character  and  conduct  of 
Fred  Foster  which  might  perhaps  have  startled  that  gentleman 
had  he  heard  them.  But  slie  moderated  her  voice  when  they 
drew  near  the  drawing-room. 

On  their  entrance,  Sabina  looked  up  quickly  and  anxiously. 

"  You  see,  now,"  Janie  exclaimed,  with  an  air  of  triumph. 
"You  thought  there  was  no  law  in  this  country?  But  if  Phil 
tells  you  that  you  have  the  absolute  guardianship  of  your  child — 
that  your  husband  can't  interfere  for  years  and  years  to  come — " 

"  No,  wait  a  moment,"  the  young  artist  said,  less  passionately. 
"  That  is  only  my  impression,  Mrs.  Foster — my  belief.  But,  good- 
ness knows,  I  am  not  going  to  say  anything  in  favor  of  tlie  law 
as  regards  the  guardianship  of  children,  for,  as  far  as  I  know  it, 
it  is  most  abominable  and  wicked.  I  am  not  quite  sure  at  what 
age  of  the  child  the  father's  legal  control  of  it  begins — but  it  is 
early.     I  know  that;  and  then  not  only  has  he  the  sole  right  to 


288  SAIJINA    ZEMBRA. 

say  what  education,  what  companionship  the  child  is  to  have,  but 
lie  can  take  the  boy  or  girl,  as  it  happens  to  be,  away  from  the 
mother  altogether — without  the  mother  having  done  anything  to 
justify  his  doing  so !  I  hope  I  am  not  mistaken  ;  but  I  am  al- 
most certain  that  is  the  law ;  and  a  more  iniquitous  thing  was 
never  imagined.  It  is  simply  playing  into  the  hands  of  a  scoun- 
drel ;  for,  of  course,  a  respectable  man  would  not  take  the  child 
away  from  its  mother  so  long  as  she  was  fit  to  take  the  charge  of 
it—" 

He  stopped  and  blushed  hotly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Foster,"  he  stammered.  "  I  was  not 
even  thinking  of  your  husband — I  was  talking  about  the  abstract 
question.  And  how  I  happen  to  know  something  about  it  is  this 
— I  know  a  case  in  which  the  husband,  having  pron)ised  before 
marriage  that  if  there  were  any  children  by  the  marriage  they 
were  to  be  brought  up  in  the  religion  of  the  mother,  changed  his 
mind  afterwards,  took  the  children  away  from  her,  had  them  ed- 
ucated as  he  wished,  and  brought  up  in  his  own  religion,  and  refused 
to  allow  the  mother  to  see  them — except  under  a  judge's  order, 
that  enabled  her  to  pay  them  a  short  visit  at  stated  times.  That 
is  how  I  happen  to  know  what  the  law  is ;  and  a  more  monstrous 
thing  couldn't  be  conceived." 

"  But,  dear  Sabie,"  Janie  said,  eagerly,  "  in  the  mean  time  he 
cannot  touch  your  little  boy  !" 

"  Do  you  think  that  is  any  consolation  ?"  Sabina  answered,  but 
without  reproach  ;  her  eyes  were  absent. 

Philip  Drexel  turned  to  his  wife. 

"  It's  Mrs.  Whittington  who  is  sitting  to  me  this  morning.  I 
shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  she  knew  when  the  father  can  as- 
sume the  sole  legal  control  of  a  child.  It's  wonderful  how  much 
some  of  those  people  know,  where  their  interests  are  concerned — 
all  about  rates  and  taxes,  school-boards,  county  courts,  and  things 
of  that  kind.  If  Mrs.  Foster  will  excuse  me  for  a  moment,  I  will 
go  and  see." 

lie  went  along  to  the  studio,  and  returned  in  about  a  couple  of 
minutes. 

"  For  the  first  seven  years,  she  says,  the  mother  has  the  guar- 
dianship of  the  child ;  and  I  am  almost  sure  she  is  right." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Sabie  ?" 

Sabina  turned  very  pale. 


A    CEY    OF    DESPAIR.  289 

"When  he  is  seven  years  of  age?  Janie,  think!  Just  think 
of  it!"  she  said,  piteously.  "The  boy  grows  up  with  you — your 
only  companion — every  fibre  of  your  heart  answering  to  his  light- 
est touch  ;  and  then,  when  he  is  seven,  he  is  snatched  away  from 
you,  and  you  may  never  see  him  again.  God  forgive  me,  but  I 
could  almost  wish  that  my  little  one  were  dead  now  and  in  his 
grave  ;  I  should  follow  soon." 
She  rose  wearily. 

"  But  in  the  mean  time,  Sabie,  he  is  all  yours,"  Janie  protested. 
"And  yours  only.     No  one  can  touch  him." 

"Think  of  my  life  with  this  terror  hanging  over  it,"  she  said. 
"And  what  can  I  do?     I  am  helpless — helpless." 
Janie  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"Sabie,"  she  said,  vehemently,  "you  are  not  going  out  of  this 
house  like  that.  I  will  not  allow  you  to  go  away  in  that  frame 
of  mind.  And  while  Phil  and  I  are  alive  you  need  not  say  you 
are  helpless.  What  are  you  to  do  now?  Why,  nothing  is  more 
simple!  You  and  I  will  get  into  a  cab,  and  we  will  go  along  to 
your  father's  house,  or  to  the  Waldegrave  Club,  or  wherever  he  is 
likely  to  be ;  and  then  you  must  prevail  on  him  to  let  you  have 
the  money — and  there  will  be  no  question  at  all  of  taking  the 
boy  away.  That  is  what  has  to  be  done — it  is  as  clear  as  day- 
light." 

"  Unfortunately,"  her  husband  interposed,  "  it  can't  be  done 
just  at  this  moment.     Sir  Anthony  Zembra  is  in  Antwerp." 
Sabina  turned  quickly. 
"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  He  is  over  there  at  the  Industrial  Congress ;  I  saw  the  names 
in  this  morning's  paper,"  was  the  answer. 

"Ah,  well,  it  does  not  much  matter,"  Sabina  said;  and  her 
eyes  looked  tired  and, worn.  "I  could  not  have  gone  to  see  him 
without  thinking  over  what  I  ought  to  say  to  him.  I  will  go 
back  to  my  little  boy  now ;  I  need  not  miss  any  half-hour  of 
being  with  him — while  that  remains  to  me." 

"  Janie,"  said  the  young  artist,  sharply,  "  why  don't  you  ask 
Mrs.  Foster  to  stay  with  us  for  a  few  days  until  her  father  comes 
back  from  Belgium  ?     The  baby  could  be  sent  for." 

But  Sabina  would  not  hear  of  that ;  nor  would  she  allow  Janie 
to  go  back  with  her  to  Witstcad.     Janie  went  with  her  to  the 
Notting  Hill  Gate  station,  and  then  insisted  on  going  on  with  her 
13 


290  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

to  Victoria;  and  there  they  had  to  wait  a  little  while  for  the 
train.  The  time  was  spent  mostly  in  silence ;  for  Janie's  heart 
was  heavy  within  her — except  when  fiery  pulses  of  indignation 
and  wrath  shot  through  it ;  and  she  knew  it  was  not  worth  while 
giving  voice  to  these.  And  even  her  parting  words  of  consola- 
tion and  hope  died  away  before  the  terrible  loneliness  and  despair 
of  this  woman's  look.  Ail  the  way  home  Janie  was  haunted  by 
that  look ;  and  also  there  was  ringing  through  her  brain  an  ap- 
peal— a  single  phrase  that  she  had  heard  or  read,  though  at  the 
moment  she  could  not  remember  where — but  surely  it  was  a  far- 
reaching  cry  of  anguish — 

"  Is  there  no  pity  sitting  in  the  clouds  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

ALLIES. 


When  Fred  Foster  went  to  call  upon  Mrs.  Fairservice  in  Jermyn 
Street,  it  was  not  without  studied  preparation  ;  his  hat  and  boots 
and  gloves  were  all  new  and  neat,  and  he  had  taken  the  greatest 
care  of  his  general  appearance.  As  she  came  into  the  room,  and 
carelessly  gave  him  her  hand,  her  sharp  eyes  noticed  this  at  once, 
and  she  laughed  a  little. 

"What,  then?"  he  said,  rather  resentfully ;  for  no  one  likes  to 
be  scrutinized  in  that  fashion. 

"  We're  smart,  ain't  we  ?" 

"  What  did  you  expect?"  he  said.  "Did  you  want  me  to  come 
in  a  fancy  dress,  like  a  ready-money  fielder?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Scarborough,"  she  said,  good-naturedly. 
"Oh,  don't  you  think  I  am  objecting.  Quite  the  contrary.  I 
think  your  appearance  now  would  be  much  more  likely  to  inspire 
the  confidence  of  the  betting  public.  And  I  hope  it's  a  sign  of  a 
change  of  luck — I  do,  indeed." 

She  was  putting  aside  the  window-curtains  to  let  a  little  more 
of  the  afternoon  light  into  the  dusky  aj)artment,  while  he  put  his 
hat  and  gloves  on  a  small  side-table  hard  by.  But  when  she 
turned  to  him  again  she  seemed  to  be  struck  with  something  in 
his  look. 

"Holloa,"  she  said,  "  what's  the  matter  with  your  eyes?" 


ALLIES.  291 

"There's  nothing  the  matter  with  my  eyes,"  he  said,  with  still 
further  subdued  resentment.  "  There  seems  to  be  with  yours, 
though.     They're  remarkably  inquisitive  this  evening." 

"  You  don't  drink,"  she  said.  "  No,  you  were  always  too  wide- 
awake for  that.     What  have  you  been  doing  ?" 

He  was  both  impatient  and  angry,  but  did  not  dare  to  show  it. 
He  muttered  something  in  an  apologetic  way  of  his  having  suf- 
fered severely  from  toothache  of  late,  and  of  his  having  tried 
chloral  to  procure  him  a  little  rest.  He  did  not  choose  to  tell 
her  that  it  was  the  sleepless  nights  of  agony  and  remorse  follow- 
ing his  mother's  death  that  had  driven  him  to  this  dangerous 
resource. 

"  Then  you'd  better  stop,"  Mrs.  Fairservice  said,  plainly.  "  If 
you  and  I  are  going  to  do  anything  together  you'll  want  a  level 
head.     I  suppose  you  understand  ?" 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  see  how  an  attack 
of  toothache  is  going  to  interfere." 

"  Come,  sit  down,  and  tell  me  how  your  affairs  are,"  she  said, 
in  a  friendly  fashion,  but  still  regarding  him  with  a  watchful  eye. 
"  At  any  rate,  you  are  in  London — that's  a  hopeful  sign.  Got 
everything  squared  up  yet?  Let  me  see,  who  was  it  who  was 
coming  in  as  peace-maker?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  all  right,"  he  said,  with  an  assumption  of  easy  con- 
fidence. "That  is  to  say,  everything  wants  a  little  time;  but  I 
see  how  it  is  to  be  managed.  You  mean  Raby.  No  thanks  to 
him.  No;  he  played  me  a  shabby  trick,  though  Johnny  Russell 
swears  it  was  only  carelessness  or  indifference.  Well,  it  does  not 
matter  much.  Russell  has  turned  out  a  brick.  And  yet  it  does 
not  seem  such  a  great  deal  for  a  fellow  with  all  his  money  to 
Lold  out  a  helping  hand." 

"You  see,  Master  Fred,  that  depends,"  Mrs.  Fairservice  re- 
marked, coolly.  "  One  does  not  like  in  any  case  to  throw  good 
money  after  bad.  I  am  glad  your  young  friend  thinks  better  of 
your  prospects.     What's  his  little  game?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said. 

"  Why,  what  is  his  reason  for  coming  forward  in  this  magnani- 
mous way,  and  hauling  you  out  of  the  ditch  ?  It  isn't  often  done. 
What  is  his  inducement?" 

"  Well,  I  call  it  pure  good-fellowship — friendship,  if  you  like." 

She  shook  her  head. 


292  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  srailc,  "That  won't  do.  That's  too 
thin.     Or  else  he's  an  awful  softie." 

"Women's  views  of  friendship  may  be  different  from  men's," 
he  said.  "I  don't  know.  However,  it  does  not  matter.  The  fact 
remains  that  I  hope,  with  Jack  Russell's  help,  to  have  everything 
fair  and  square  in  a  very  short  time.  And  now  the  question  is — 
what  about  Bernard  ?" 

It  was  curious  to  notice  the  sharp  and  sudden  alteration  of  her 
look.  She  had  been  quite  pleasant  and  debonair  ;  even  her  scan- 
ning of  his  appearance  was  not  unfriendly;  her  cynical  confidences 
were  uttered  in  perfect  good-nature.  But  the  mere  mention  of 
Bernard's  name  sufficed  to  change  all  that  in  an  instant.  When 
next  she  spoke  there  was  a  baleful  fire  in  her  eyes,  and  her  mouth 
was  drawn  and  hard. 

"  I  had  half  forgotten,"  she  said,  with  a  kind  of  laugh.  "  See- 
ing you  so  smart,  I  fancied  you  had  coTue  to  take  me  to  the  thea- 
tre. I  had  almost  forgotten  Mr.  Bernard.  One  will  forget  one's 
best  friends  sometimes." 

She  went  to  the  sideboard,  opened  a  drawer,  took  out  a  photo- 
graph, and,  bringing  it  back,  threw  it  on  the  table  before  Foster. 

"  There,  do  you  know  who  that  is  ?"  she  said,  with  another  iron- 
ical laugh. 

It  was  a  portrait  of  a  thin,  wizened,  prematurely  old-looking 
young  man,  who  was  dressed  as  if  he  was  going  to  a  wedding, 
with  a  large  "button-hole"  in  his  frock-coat. 

"Well,  you  might  call  him  a  swell,  now,  if  you  like,"  Foster 
said.  "Bought  tliis  out  of  a  shop-window,  I  suppose?  You  see 
what  it  is  to  be  famous.  Cabinet-ministers,  archbishops,  and  jock- 
eys ;  I  suppose  Joe  Cantly  was  in  excellent  company." 

"  You  may  suppose  anything  you  like,"  she  retorted,  "  but  don't 
you  imagine  I  bought  that  out  of  any  shop-window.  Oh,  no,  that 
is  a  present  from  Mr.  Joe  himself.  And  that  is  the  footing  we  are 
on  now." 

"  You've  seen  him  ?"  he  said,  quickly. 

"  Very  much,"  was  the  collected  answer.  "Charlie  Bernard  was 
over  at  Redcar.  Joe  was  quite  pleased  to  see  an  old  friend.  And 
you  should  have  heard  him  swear  on  his  honor  as  a  gentleman — 
his  honor  as  a  gentleman — that  not  a  living  soul  should  know  I 
had  spoken  to  him.  Now  what  do  you  suppose  a  jockey's  '  honor 
as  a  gentleman  '  is  worth  ?     Ca-n  you  put  a  price  on  it  ?     No ;  I 


ALLIES,  293 

don't  want  to  say  anytliing  against  the  3-oiing  man  ;  he  was  very 
friendly  with  me,  very  grateful ;  I  believe  I  could  bring  tears  to 
his  eyes  by  appealing  to  his  noble  sentiments.  Wouldn't  you 
like  to  see  that  ?  I  should.  Fancy  a  jock  with  tears  in  his  eyes — 
liis  hand  clasped  on  his  heart — " 

"Yes,  but  did  lie  say  anything?"  Foster  interrupted. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  "he  told  me  that  the  rumors  they  have 
been  putting  about  that  Jackson  will  never  be  able  to  bring  Ros- 
crawn  thoroughly  sound  to  the  post  are  all  gammon.  The  horse 
is  as  fit  as  a  fiddle.  That  might  be  a  good  thing  for  you,  eh  ? 
But  I  suppose  you're  not  doing  much  business  with  the  pencillers 
at  present  ?" 

"  You  know  that  is  not  what  I  asked  you,"  he  said,  pee- 
vishly. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  you  and  I  must  understand  each  other,  Mas- 
ter Fred.  I  sliould  want  to  see  you  in  a  rather  more  secure  posi- 
tion before  chancing  anything.  IIow  much  time  do  you  want? 
I  confess  I  am  in  no  great  hurry.  If  I  go  for  Charlie  Bernard  at 
all  it  will  be  a  thorough  thing,  I  can  tell  you ;  and  I  can  bide  my 
time.  Indeed,  there's  nothing  else  to  be  done  at  present.  With 
Goodwood,  Brighton,  and  Lewes  over,  there's  nothing  worth  men- 
tioning now  till  the  Leger — except  the  Ebor  Handicap,  and  Cantly 
says  that  Bernard  has  no  great  faith  in  Red  Manual." 

"  lie's  not  going  to  back  Red  Manual  ?"  Foster  exclaimed — but 
this  was  really  intended  to  give  her  the  notion  that  information  of 
the  kind  was  becoming  valuable  to  him. 

"  To  no  great  extent,  anyway,  if  the  immaculate  Joe  is  to  be  be- 
lieved. So  that's  not  to  be  thought  of.  No,  no  ;  as  1  say,  I'm  go- 
ing to  take  my  time;  Joe  and  1  are  far,  far,  far  from  being  suffi- 
ciently friendly  as  yet;  and  as  for  you — you're  no  use  to  me  as 
you  are." 

It  was  plain  speaking,  but  he  did  not  wince. 

"You  want  time  for  yourself.  Give  me  the  same,"  he  said; 
and  then  he  added,  "  I  suppose  you  have  some  engagement  for  this 
evening." 

"I?     Not  I.     I  only  came  to  town  this  morning." 

"You  spoke  of  the  theatre,"  he  said,  rather  nervously.  "What 
do  you  say,  now,  to  coming  and  dining  with  me  at  a  restaurant, 
and  then  I  will  send  up  a  commissionaire  to  one  of  the  Bond  street 
agencies  to  secure  a  box  ?" 


294  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

She  was  inclined  to  look  upon  this  as  a  piece  of  bravado;  but 
guessed  that  perhaps  he  had  fallen  in  with  a  little  money  some- 
where. And  he  had  ;  for  the  fifty  pounds  had,  somewhat  unex- 
pectedly, arrived  from  Buckinghamshire ;  and  Foster  was  deter- 
mined to  make  this  go  as  far  as  possible  in  showing  evidence  of 
his  bettering  condition.  How  much  would  Mrs.  Fairservice  im- 
agine lay  behind  that  little  offer  of  a  dinner  and  a  box  at  the 
theatre  ? 

"  No,  we'll  divide  that  programme  into  two  halves,"  she  said. 
"  You  may  go  and  see  about  the  box  now ;  I  will  order  a  bit  of 
dinner  for  us  here.     What  o'clock  is  it  ?" 

Perhaps  this  was  sarcasm ;  she  could  see  that  his  watch-pocket 
was  empty. 

"  I  have  left  my  watch  at  home,"  he  said.  "  But  I  should 
fancy  it  must  be  close  on  six." 

"  Then  go  and  get  the  box,"  she  said,  "  and  I  will  order  dinner 
for  six-thirty.  We  may  as  well  see  the  farce,  if  there  is  one  ;  and 
I  have  good,  healthy,  old-fashioned  tastes." 

Now,  not  only  did  Mr.  Foster  go  and  secure  for  himself  an  ex- 
pensive box  at  one  of  the  best  theatres,  but  also  he  went  round 
by  Covent  Garden  and  purchased  for  Mrs.  Fairservice  a  very  beau- 
tiful bouquet.  He  himself  carried  it  back  with  him  to  the  hotel; 
and  when  he  presented  it,  there  was  no  apparent  cynicism  in  the 
smile  of  thanks  with  which  she  received  it.  Perhaps  she  was  a 
little  bit  impressed  by  this  display  of  affluence,  despite  her  habit- 
ual shrewdness.  At  all  events,  here  he  was  in  London,  and  with 
so  little  fear  of  being  laid  by  the  heels,  or  otherwise  interfered 
with,  that  he  was  proposing  to  go  to  a  public  theatre. 

Itideed,  as  they  sat  at  dinner,  she  became  much  more  frank 
with  him  about  her  relations  with  Cantly,  and  her  plans  for  work- 
ing upon  these.  Once  or  twice,  too,  she  seemed  to  imply  that 
she  was  counting  upon  his — that  is,  upon  Foster's — confederacy; 
and  so  anxious  was  he  to  assure  her  of  being  a  person  worthy  of 
trust  that  he  would  not,  at  first,  touch  a  drop  of  wine. 

"  What's  up  now?"  she  said,  when  he  refused. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  provoke  any  more  complimentary  remarks," 
he  answ'cred. 

"  Oh,  about  the  look  of  your  eyes  ?"  she  said.  "  If  it  comes  to 
that,  I  would  sooner  see  you  drinking  wine  than  drugging  your- 
self with  chloraL     How  long  have  you  been  at  it?" 


ALLIES.  295 

"  How  long  have  I  been  at  it  ?"  he  repeated.  "  How  long  does 
a  fit  of  toothache  last?     About  a  century,  I  suppose?" 

"  Well,  it  must  have  been  a  pretty  long  fit  to  have  altered  your 
appearance  so,"  she  said,  shrevvdl3\  "  I  fancied  you  looked  rather 
wliite  about  the  gills  when  we  met  at  Scarborough.  And  that's 
not  like  you.     You  used  to  keep  yourself  in  pretty  fit  condition." 

"  I  am  as  well  as  ever  I  was  in  my  life,"  he  said,  bluntly. 
"And  I  will  take  some  wine — I  would  rather  do  that  than  be 
picked  to  pieces." 

"Ob,  I  didn't  mean  to  offend,"  she  said,  good-naturedly.  "It 
was  only  a  little  friendly  inquiry.  And,  by-the-way.  Master  Fred, 
it  has  occurred  to  me  that,  in  view  of  certain  possibilities  in  the 
future,  it  would  be  as  well  for  you  and  me  not  to  be  seen  to- 
gether at  that  theatre  to-night.  One  or  other  of  us  must  keep  in 
a  safe  corner  in  the  box." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  And  as  I  haven't 
evening  dress  on,  I'll  keep  in  the  background." 

In  due  course  of  time  Mrs.  Fairscrvice's  carriage  was  summoned, 
and  they  drove  to  the  theatre,  where,  if  he  remained  discreetly 
withdrawn  from  the  public  gaze,  she  was  very  much  en  evidence 
indeed,  with  her  opera-glass  and  fan  and  bouquet.  It  is  to  be 
feared  that  he  did  not  pay  great  heed  to  the  performances  that 
followed.  He  had  learned  a  good  deal  that  evening.  It  was 
abundantly  clear  that,  whoever  might  help  him  out  of  present 
straits,  that  person  was  not  Mrs.  Fairservice.  Further  than  that, 
it  was  just  as  clear  that  she  would  have  him  present  a  pecuniary 
clean  bill  of  health  before  accepting  him  as  her  coadjutor.  On 
the  other  hand,  she  still  seemed  to  count  on  his  assistance;  there 
was  some  little  time  yet  in  which  to  prove  himself  eligible  for  the 
honorable  post;  and  the  more  he  studied  the  possibilities  of  the 
scheme  she  was  planning,  the  more  he  saw  what  a  splendid  cou]} 
it  would  prove  for  himself,  if  properly  managed.  But  in  the 
mean  while  the  paramount  need  was  money.  Money  must  be 
got  at  all  or  any  hazards — if  only  to  stay  the  mouths  of  the  wolves 
who  were  hunting  him. 

When  he  had  safely  escorted  Mrs.  Fairservice  back  to  her  hotel, 
and  made  an  appointment  to  see  her  that  day  week,  he  walked 
away  up  Ilegent  Street  to  the  Rochambcau  Club,  and  asked  if 
Mr.  John  Russell  were  within.  The  Rochambcau  was  a  small 
club,  of  somewhat  shady  reputation,  and  chiefly  devoted  to  bac- 


29G  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

carat,  ecart6,  poker,  and  billiards.  At  this  hour  —  a  little  after 
eleven — it  seemed  deserted.  Looking  through  the  glass  panels 
of  the  inner  doors,  Foster  could  only  see  one  or  two  young  men 
dawdling  about,  in  evening  dress  and  crush-hats,  and  apparently 
just  arrived  from  the  theatre. 

However,  one  of  these  did  happen  to  be  Mr.  Johnny  Russell, 
who,  when  summoned  by  the  waiter,  came  leisurely  along  into 
the  outer  hall,  chewing  a  toothpick,  and  looking  at  once  surprised 
and  amused. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  fair  piece  of  bluff,  this  is,"  he  said. 

"  I  had  to  chance  it — there  was  no  help  for  it,"  was  Foster's 
answer. 

"  No,  no,"  the  flabby  and  white-cheeked  young  man  said,  face- 
tiously, "  I  can  hardly  believe  it.  What  do  you  hold  in  your 
hand  ?  Three  aces  and  a  pair,  I'll  be  bound.  Or  a  straight  flush  ? 
You've  got  something  to  show." 

"  I  wish  I  had,"  Foster  said,  bitterly.  "  I've  come  to  town  to 
ask  you  to  do  for  me  what  Raby  sneaked  out  of.  A  shabbier 
trick  was  never  played.  Your  excuses  for  him  only  make  it 
worse;  for  he  never  need  have  undertaken  it  at  all  if  he  didn't 
mean  it." 

"  Have  a  drink,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  coolly.  "  That  is  one  of 
the  advantages  of  a  proprietary  club ;  you  can  have  anything,  at 
any  time,  and  for  anybody,  that  will  put  a  penny  in  the  man- 
ager's pocket.  Or  a  bit  of  supper?  The  fellows  haven't  come 
in  yet;  there's  nothing  doing." 

"No,  I  would  rather  not  go  into  the  club." 

Russell  laughed. 

"The  cavalier  in  hiding — good  subject  for  a  picture." 

Foster  considered  the  pleasantry  rather  ill-timed,  but  was  glad 
enough  to  find  Johnny  Russell  in  good-humor. 

"  Come  out  for  a  bit  of  a  stroll,"  he  said.  "  We  can  talk  with- 
out risk  of  being  overheard." 

Russell  put  on  a  light  overcoat,  and  together  they  went  out ; 
the  dnsky  thoroughfares  around  Hanover  Square  gave  them  am- 
ple opportunity  of  uninterrupted  conversation. 

"  Arc  you  going  to  stand  my  friend.  Jack  ?"  was  Foster's  plain 
question. 

"  To  what  tune?"  was  the  equally  plain  answer. 

"  Well,  if  you  will  lend  me  three  hundred  pounds — if  I  can 


ALLIES.  297 

show  it — I  can  put  ray  hand  on  another  two  hundred  pounds  ; 
and  that  together  surely  should  pacify  them  in  the  mean  time — " 

"Three  hundred  pounds  !"  the  other  said,  in  less  friendly  fash- 
ion.    "  Why,  Raby  never  suggested  anything  so  much  as  that." 

"No,  because  he  didn't  know  what  a  chance  I  had,"  Foster 
said,  eagerly.  "He thought  it  was  merely  to  put  me  on  my  legs 
again.  But  it  isn't  that.  I  daren't  tell  you  what  the  chance  is — 
but  it's  a  very  big  thing — " 

"  Oh  yes,  it's  always  that,"  the  younger  man  said,  evidently  dis- 
liking the  whole  situation.  "  And  perhaps  it  is  a  good  chance. 
But  you  know,  Foster,  I  don't  quite  see  why  I  should  pay  in  order 
to  let  you  have  another  gamble." 

"It  isn't  gambling  at  all!"  Foster  protested — and  he  was  ear- 
nest enough  on  this  occasion — "  it  is  giving  me  a  helping  hand  to 
let  me  get  my  head  above  water — and  just  when  there  is  a  fresh 
start  offered  me.  Besides,  man,  you  will  be  paid  —  every  far- 
thing." 

"  It's  easy  to  say  that,"  the  other  grumbled. 

"  Oh,  but  this  time  it  really  is  all  right.  As  soon  as  Sir  An- 
thony Zembra  comes  back  from  Antwerp  my  wife  is  going  to  him 
to  get  him  to  increase  her  allowance — there's  the  grandson  to  be 
considered,  you  see — and  out  of  that  increase  she  will  pay  you 
back  the  whole  of  the  three  hundred  pounds,  if  you  only  give  her 
time.  I  need  not  appear  in  it  at  all.  The  instalments — monthly 
or  quarterly,  as  you  please — will  be  forwarded  by  her.  It  is  as 
safe  as  the  Bauk  1" 

"  How  do  you  know  that  Sir  Anthony  will  give  your  wife  what 
she  asks?"  the  other  said,  still  suspicious. 

"  Why,  he's  bound  to  !  But  I'll  tell  you  what — wait  and  see. 
I  am  content  to  abide  by  the  result." 

"  Who  is  to  let  me  know  ?"  Johnny  Russell  said,  rather  coolly. 

This  was  so  plain  an  intimation  that  Foster's  word  might  not 
be  considered  as  all-sufficient,  that  for  a  second  or  two  he  was  ra- 
ther at  a  loss.     But  presently  he  said, 

"Why,  it's  very  simple.  Will  you  be  content  with  this?  If 
my  wife  writes  to  you  and  says  she  is  in  a  position  to  pay  you  so 
much  a  quarter,  and  will  do  so,  will  that  satisfy  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"And  you  will  let  me  have  the  money?" 

"  Yes." 
13* 


298  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  It's  a  bargain,  then,"  Foster  said,  with  evident  relief.  "  Mind 
you,  old  fellow,  I  haven't  said  much  about  gratitude  and  all  that, 
but  I  don't  forget  such  things.  It's  when  a  fellow  is  down  that 
he  feels  them  most.  Come,"  he  said,  presently,  "  there's  a  public- 
house  dovi'n  there.  Let's  have  a  brandy-and-soda  on  the  strength 
of  this.  I've  been  at  the  theatre  this  evening — with  a  Mrs.  Fair- 
service — and  doing  propriety.     I  should  like  a  drink." 

"Public-house  brandy,"  said  Johnny  Russell,  rather  gloomily. 
"Why  didn't  you  have  it  at  the  Club?" 

"  Oh,  it's  all  the  same — it's  all  corn  and  potato  spirit,"  Foster 
said,  cheerfully.  "  It  will  be  quite  a  new  sensation  for  me  to 
stand  treat  at  a  counter — a  remembrance  of  old  days,  when  you 
had  got  hold  of  a  thirsty  bookie  and  wanted  him  to  give  you 
something  like  Christian  prices.  The  worst  of  these  places  is  that 
their  spirits  are  so  diluted  that  you  can  hardly  taste  them ;  the 
only  way  is  to  have  a  double  dose." 

So  Foster  and  his  friend  went  into  the  private  bar  and  had 
their  drink  there — though  Johnny  Russell  did  not  seem  to  like 
the  look  of  this  unfamiliar  place. 

"  And  how  long  are  you  going  to  face  it  out  in  London  ?"  the 
latter  asked.     "  It's  pretty  cheeky,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you,"  Foster  said — to  whom  a  deep  draught  of 
the  brown  brandy  and  soda-water  seemed  to  have  imparted  a  new 
animation.  "  But  I  am  quite  aware  that  the  atmosphere  of  the 
metropolis  of  England  is  much  too  sultry  for  my  constitution.  I'm 
oflf  to-morrow  or  next  day.  I  shall  vanish  like  a  ghost — until  I 
hear  it's  all  right  about  the  three  hundred  pounds ;  and  then  I'll 
get  you  two  hundred  pounds,  and  give  you  a  list  of  people — the 
Jennings,  and  Jim  Deane,  and  a  lot  of  them,  and  you'll  have  to 
do  your  best  to  bring  them  to  reason.  I  know  you  will  do  it  far 
better  than  Raby.  They  would  suspect  him.  He's  too  keen  a 
file  all  the  way  round.  But  they  must  know  you  have  nothing  to 
gain  ;  sha'n't  we  have  a  jolly  little  dinner,  old  man,  when  I  come 
back  clear  and  safe — at  the  Bristol,  eh  ? — the  old  room  ?" — 

There  was  a  kind  of  incoheretice  about  his  talk  and  manner, 
though  that  could  hardly  be  attributed  to  drink,  for  he  had  taken 
very  little  wine  at  dinner,  and  had  since  touched  nothing  till  now. 

"  Where  are  you  off  to,  then?"  his  companion  said. 

"  Oh,  I'll  find  some  safe  quarters  somewhere — where  I  can  see 
a  morning  gallop  or  two.    Not  in  Yorkshire,  though,  I  hope;  just 


TUE    INTERPOSING    HAND,  299 

you  believe  me,  I  had  a  baddisli  time  of  it  when  I  was  there.  I 
never  was  so  down  on  my  hick — " 

"  You're  not  looking  very  well  after  it,  anyway,"  Russell  said, 
regarding  him  with  his  pale,  lack-lustre  eyes.  "  No,  by  Jove, 
you're  not  looking  up  to  the  mark." 

"  Neither  would  you  be,  I  dare  say,"  Foster  rejoined,  with  sim- 
ulated cheerfulness.  "  Well,  old  man,  you're  oflE  back  to  the  Club, 
I  suppose.  I'm  going  down  home  to  try  and  get  some  sleep. 
I've  had  some  bad  nights  lately." 

Outside  the  public-house  there  were  a  few  final  words  of  under- 
taking and  direction,  and  then  they  parted,  and  went  their  several 
ways. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
THE  INTERPOSING  HAND. 


"Mother,"  cried  Janie,  bustling  into  the  old-fashioned  little 
dining-room  in  Kensington  Square,  and  just  a  little  breathless, 
either  from  some  unusual  excitement,  or  from  quick  walking, 
*'  here's  a  splendid  project,  now  1  Phil  has  sent  mo  down  to  tell 
you,  for  we  want  you  to  help ;  and  if  only  we  succeed,  won't  you 
be  as  pleased  as  any  of  us  !  Of  course  it's  about  Sabie  ;  you  may 
be  sure  of  that.  You  can't  tell  how  distressed  Phil  and  I  have 
been  about  her  since  we  saw  her  last.  Why,  she  has  become  quite 
a  different  creature  from  the  Sabie  we  used  to  know — you  remem- 
ber how  proud  and  merry  and  self-confident  she  used  to  be — a 
queen  wherever  she  went— and  now  she  is  nervous  and  terrified 
and  cowed ;  fancy  our  Sabie  being  cowed — by  a  whipper-snapper 
like  that !  But  it's  all  through  her  passionate  love  of  her  boy ; 
her  alarm  seems  to  have  got  the  better  of  her  reason  altogether; 
you  never  saw  anything  like  it.  I  believe  Foster  could  make  her 
sing  in  the  streets  if  he  chose  ;  and  I  believe  he  would  do  it,  if  he 
thought  he  could  get  any  money  by  it." 

"  Put  about  the  project,  Janie?" 

"  I  am  coming  to  that.  I  had  a  letter  from  Walter  Lindsay 
this  morning.  He  has  been  away  in  Canada;  that  is  why  wc 
have  not  heard  from  him  for  so  long.  And  now,  he  says,  as  wc 
have  been  talking  of  paying  our  first  visit  to  Scotland,  his  place  in 
Wigtonshire  is  entirely  at  our  disposal,  if  Phil  and  I  think  of  go- 


300  SABINA   ZEMBKA. 

ing  round  that  way.  Isn't  it  good  of  him  ?  His  brother-in-law, 
who  lives  near,  looks  after  the  property  for  hira  ;  but  there  is  no 
one  living  in  the  house.  He  says  it  is  a  small  place,  but  the 
grounds  are  pretty  ;  and  there  is  a  lake  not  far  off  where  we  can 
have  the  use  of  a  boat.  Well,  we  had  been  rather  undecided 
about  going  North,  but  that  decided  it ;  nothing  ever  came  in  so 
handy.  You  remember  I  told  you  Phil  had  been  asked  by  some 
rich  picture-buyer  he  knows — I  forget  his  name — to  visit  hira  this 
autumn  at  his  place  in  Islay ;  and  there  are  to  be  three  Academi- 
cians there,  for  the  fishing  and  shooting;  and  Phil  rather  wanted 
to  see  what  that  kind  of  life  in  the  Highlands  was  like — looking 
on,  of  course,  for  I  shouldn't  think  he  would  be  much  use  with  a 
rod  or  a  gun.  But  where  could  he  leave  me,  that  was  the  ques- 
tion. I  wasn't  in  the  invitation  ;  I  never  saw  the  man  ;  and  the 
notion  of  my  dawdling  in  a  hotel  in  a  Scotch  town  until  Phil  came 
back  didn't  strike  either  of  us  as  fascinating.  And  now  do  you 
see  how  Mr.  Lindsay's  offer  clinched  the  matter?" 

"  At  any  rate,  I  cannot  understand  how  any  one  should  have 
two  houses  hanging  useless  on  his  hands  like  that,"  Mrs.  Wygram 
said.     "  Why  doesn't  he  come  back  to  his  own  country  ?" 

Janie  sighed. 

"  Why  ?  He  says  he  gets  fresh  material  over  there,  and  sells 
his  pictures  easily.  But  I  don't  think  it  is  that  that  keeps  him 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic." 

"  You  have  not  said  anything  of  Sabie  in  all  this,"  her  mother 
reminded  her. 

Janie  brightened  up  instantly. 

"The  moment  we  had  settled  the  matter  so  far,  Phil  said  to 
me,  '  Now,  look  here ;  if  your  mother  could  only  persuade  Mrs. 
Foster  to  give  up  the  charge  of  her  child  to  her  for  that  time, 
what  is  to  hinder  your  beloved  Sabie  from  coitiing  along  with  us? 
I  will  pay  her  travelling  expenses;  Foster  would  have  the  whole 
of  her  income  while  she  was  away;  he  wouldn't  object.  And 
then  if  that  place  in  AVigtonshire  turned  out  to  be  a  niceish  sort 
of  place,  Sabie  and  you  could  remain  there  till  I  got  back  from 
Islay.'  Mother,  just  think  of  it !"  said  Janie,  with  a  little  laugh 
of  delight.  "Think  of  Sabie  and  I  walking  over  the  hills,  and 
rowing  in  a  boat  on  the  lake,  and  running  about  the  garden.  It 
is  just  a  dream  of  happiness.  And  then,  when  Phil  comes  back, 
we  will  all  go  on  together  to  Edinburgh,  I  suppose.     Edinburgh 


THE    INTERPOSING    HAND.  301 

and  Melrose  Abbey:  these  are  the  two  tbings  I  stipulate  for. 
Phil  can  settle  all  the  rest." 

"And  my  share,"  said  Mrs.  Wygram,  with  a  smile,  "  is  to  take 
charge  of  the  boy  in  London." 

"  Ah,  but  we  knew  you  would  gladly  do  that,  for  Sable's  sake," 
her  daughter  said.  "  When  Phil  proposed  that  she  should  come 
with  us,  he  was  thinking  of  me.  She  was  to  be  a  travelling  com- 
panion for  me.  But  that  is  not  what  I  am  looking  forward  to. 
I  am  looking  forward  to  getting  her  away  for  a  while  from  that 
man  ;  to  see  if  we  cannot  give  her  back  a  little  of  the  cheerfulness 
and  courage  of  the  Sabie  of  old  days.  Of  course,  it  will  take  a 
fearful  amount  of  coaxing  before  she  will  agree  to  part  with  the 
child,  even  for  that  short  time.  You  will  have  to  talk  her  over, 
mother,  or  shall  we  go  down  together?  You  see,  as  soon  as  Phil 
has  finished  the  last  of  the  cartoons  for  Verner  Castle,  we  shall  be 
free ;  and  although  we  sha'n't  be  in  time  for  him  to  see  the  shoot- 
ing on  the  Twelfth — that  is  the  great  day,  he  says — still,  we  should 
get  North  as  soon  as  possible.  You'll  come  to  see  us  ofE  at  Eus- 
ton,  mother,  won't  you  ?  We  may  have  to  buy  some  rugs  and 
wraps  for  Sabie,  for  it's  always  so  cold  in  Scotland,  they  say.  Oh, 
won't  it  be  fine  in  that  railway-carriage!  Phil  may  fall  in  love 
with  her,  if  he  likes;  I  don't  care." 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  well,"  the  mother  said  (and  yet  she  was 
quite  willing  to  accept  her  somewhat  invidious  share  in  this  ar- 
rangement), "  but  you  are  putting  all  the  diflicultios  on  to  me.  It 
isn't  the  taking  care  of  the  little  boy  here — tiiat  we  could  manage 
well  enough;  it's  the  talking  Sabie  over,  and  I  don't  think  1  shall 
succeed  in  that." 

"But  we  n)ust  succeed,  and  wc  shall  succeed,  mother,"  Janie 
said.  "  Phil  has  to  go  down  to  Verner  Castle  this  week  ;  as  soon 
as  he  has  fixed  the  day,  I  will  let  you  know,  and  we  will  take  that 
day  to  go  to  Witstead.  And  if  you  can't  talk  her  into  saying 
yes,  I  will  force  her." 

"You  force  her!"  the  mother  said,  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  yes  I  can,"  Janie  said,  confidently.  "Sabie  has  none  of 
her  old  masterful  ways  now.  I  am  going  to  take  the  management 
of  her.     I  will  compel  hor  to  cotnc  with  us." 

"Don't  be  too  harsh  with  her,  Janie." 

"  That  is  so  very  likely  !" 

Then  she  went  aw.ay  with  her  brain  very  busy,  and  Kensington 


302  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

Higli  Street  became  a  place  of  dreams.  What  ideas  Janie  had 
formed  of  the  region 

"  Where  the  kingdom  of  Galloway's  blest 
With  the  smell  of  bog-myrtle,  and  peat," 

it  is  hard  to  say ;  but  like  most  people  who  have  never  crossed 
the  Cheviots,  she  probably  considered  Scotland  as  synonymous 
with  the  Highlands  ;  and  no  doubt  had  already  romantic  visions  in 
her  mind  of  beetling  crags,  and  lofty  mountains,  and  precipitous 
water-falls.  Had  she  been  told  that  the  people  of  Galloway  wore 
the  kilt  and  talked  Gaelic  she  would  scarcely  have  been  surprised. 
But  that  was  not  the  point.  In  these  roseate  forecasts  of  hers  she 
was  thinking  less  of  the  character  of  the  country  and  its  inhabi- 
tants than  of  her  travelling  about  in  the  constant  society  of  Sa- 
bina;  that  was  to  be  the  charm  of  this  excursion,  whatever  the 
scenery  or  the  people  might  be  like.  And  she  could  not  but  be 
struck  by  the  curious  reversal  of  their  positions.  It  was  Sabina 
who  was  now  to  be  the  petted  and  protected  one — Sabina,  who 
used  to  be  so  headstrong  in  her  good-humored  fashion,  so  self- 
reliant,  so  imperious  and  arbitrary  in  her  very  kindness.  She 
could  hardly  think  of  that  gay -hearted,  wilful,  radiant  creature  as 
being  one  and  the  same  person  with  the  poor,  trembling,  terror- 
stricken  mother  who  had  come  to  them  but  the  other  day,  white- 
faced  and  haggard-eyed,  to  ask  them  whether  her  boy  could  be 
taken  away  from  her. 

But  all  these  plans  and  forecasts  were  to  be  rudely  and  suddenly 
shattered.  When  she  returned  home,  she  was  surprised  to  find 
her  husband  in  the  house ;  ordinarily,  at  this  time  of  the  day,  he 
was  busy  in  the  studio.     Moreover,  he  was  clearly  waiting  for  her. 

"Janie,"  he  said, "I  have  opened  a  letter  sent  to  you.  I  saw 
by  the  outside  it  might  contain  news  that — that  would  startle  you. 
I  thought  it  better  to  open  it — " 

For  a  second  her  heart  stood  still  with  fear.  In  his  hand  there 
was  an  envelope  that  was  black-bordered. 

"  Not  Sabie  ?"  she  cried. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  gravely.     "  No,  but  her  husband — " 

He  handed  her  the  envelope,  and  quickly  and  breathlessly  she 
opened  it,  and  took  out  the  contents.  These  were  merely  a  cut- 
ting from  a  Yorkshire  newspaper,  containing  the  customary  list  of 
Births,  Deaths,  and  Marriages,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  middle  sec- 


THE    INTERPOSING    HAND.  303 

tion  was  the  laconic  announcement:  "On  the  9th  instant,  at 
Market  Hatley,  Mr.  Fred  Foster,  aged  29  years."  And  then,  on 
the  margin  of  the  paper,  were  a  few  words  in  a  trembling  hand- 
writing that  she  recognized  easily  enough :  "  Dearest  Janie, — 
Don't  come  to  me  just  yet.     I  will  write. — S." 

Janie  looked  frightened  only  for  a  moment;  presently  a  kind 
of  wonder  shone  in  her  face. 

"  Oh,  Phil,"  she  cried,  in  accents  that  certainly  did  not  betray 
much  sorrow,  "  Sabie  will  come  back  to  us — to  Kensington  Square 
— or  here — will  she  come  and  live  with  us  here  ?  Just  think  of 
it.  We  will  have  the  old  days  back  again — and — and  1  will  go 
at  once  and  telegraph  to  Walter  Lindsay !" 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind ;  you  will  do  nothing  so  un- 
seemly," her  husband  said  at  once.  "  Are  you  out  of  your  senses  ? 
And  I  don't  think  you  need  make  it  a  matter  of  rejoicing  that 
you  should  hear  of  the  death  of  a  fellow-creature." 

"  Oh  no,  I  don't  —  at  least,  I  wouldn't,  before  other  people," 
said  Janie,  rather  incoherently.  "  But  I  thought  there  was  no 
more  hope  in  this  world  for  my  poor  Sabie — and  now  there  is — 
surely,  surely  there  is,  Phil.  And  why  may  not  I  go  and  see  her 
now  ?  Perhaps  she  has  gone  away  north  to  the  funeral.  Then 
why  didn't  she  telegraph  to  me  to  go  down  and  take  charge  of 
the  boy  ?  Vm  sure  I  would  have  done  it  instantly.  But  most 
likely  old  Mr.  Foster  is  arranging  everything  for  her." 

And  then  again  she  said, 

"Don't  be  angry  with  mo,  Phil ;  but  how  can  von  expect  me  to 
be  sorry?  If  you  only  knew  as  1  know  what  she  has  suffered! 
And  why  may  not  1  send  a  message  to  Mr.  Lindsay?" 

"You  know  very  well,"  her  husband  said.  "Before  even  the 
dead  man  is  in  his  grave !  And  how  do  you  know  it  would  be 
welcome?     It  will  be  much  better  for  you  to  leave  things  alone." 

"I  don't  see  how  1  could  do  any  harm,"  Janie  said,  wistfully. 

"  And  there's  anotlior  thing  I  may  warn  you  about.  When  you 
do  go  to  see  your  friend,  just  you  take  care  what  you  say  about 
lier  deceased  husband — if  you  want  to  remain  her  friend.  It's 
wonderful  how  a  woman's  opinions  are  apt  to  change  in  a  matter 
of  this  kind.  She  will  let  lior  husband  ill-use  her  for  years — she 
may  have  her  eyes  open  to  all  his  bad  and  mean  fjualities;  but  as 
soon  as  he  goes  and  mercifully  dies,  it's  wonderful  how  soon  all 
these  things  are  forgotten,  and  the  dear  departed  becomes  sancti- 


304  SABINA    ZEMBKA, 

fied  into  a  hero.  It  isn't  reasonable,  of  course,  but  its  human  nat- 
ure; and  although  you  used  always  to  make  out  your  Sabie  to  be 
a  perfect  goddess,  without  a  fault,  I  consider  her  to  be  a  very 
womanly  woman,  and  I  shouldn't  at  all  be  surprised  if  she  were  to 
begin  now  and  look  back  with  regret  and  remorse  on  her  treat- 
ment of  Foster." 

"  Her  treatment  of  Foster !"  Janie  exclaimed. 

"  Yes ;  I  say  it,  and  I  mean  it.  She  will  accuse  herself  of  not 
having  humored  him  sufficiently,  of  having  shown  him  indiffer- 
ence or  neglect — a  hundred  things ;  and  she  will  think  of  all  that 
was  best  about  him,  and  blame  herself  for  the  failure  of  their 
married  life.  So  you  be  warned  in  time.  Don't  you  say  a 
word  against  him ;  and  don't  look  as  if  the  news  rather  pleased 
you." 

She  was  rather  impressed  by  these  words  of  counsel. 

"  I  suppose  what  you  say  is  quite  right,  Phil,"  she  said,  submis- 
sively. 

But  she  had  to  go  and  do  some  shopping ;  and  the  moment  she 
was  out  of  the  house  this  moderating  influence  seemed  to  fall  away 
from  her.  For  she  was  thinking  overall  that  had  happened  since 
Sabina's  marriage ;  and  again  slie  saw  the  anguish-stricken  face 
of  the  mother  dreading  to  be  robbed  of  her  child;  and  again  the 
cry  rang  through  her  brain — "  Is  there  no  pity  sitting  in  the 
clouds?"  "There  is! — there  is  ! — there  is!"  Janie  passionately 
said  to  herself;  and  she  had  no  remorse  whatever  in  rejoicing; 
the  news,  she  declared  to  herself,  and  would  hold  to  it,  was  good 
news. 

She  had  to  pass  a  telegraph-office ;  and  there  she  paused  for  a 
second,  in  wistful  hesitation.  It  seemed  such  a  pity  that  Walter 
Lindsay  should  not  know.  The  message  need  not  be  meant  as  a 
summons  to  him  to  come  back  to  his  own  country.  It  would 
merely  be  information.  How  could  it  be  unwelcome,  in  that  sense  ? 
Say,  at  the  worst,  that  he  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  some  one 
else,  he  could  not  have  quite  forgotten  his  old  regard  for  Sabina. 
Surely  he  would  be  interested  in  learning  of  her  fortunes.  Men 
were  fickle,  as  she  had  heard ;  there  had  been  great  distances  of 
time  and  space  between  these  two  ;  he  had  no  right  to  cherish  any 
feeling  warmer  than  friendship  for  a  woman  who  had  married. 
But  even  friendship  ?  Would  not  any  friend  of  Sable's  be  inter- 
ested?    And  surely  Walter  Lindsay  (if  she  understood  him)  most 


THE   INTERPOSING   HAND.  305 

of  all  ?  So  Janie  argued  with  herself,  loitering  there  irresolute ; 
and  then  she  remembered  her  husband's  charge  to  her,  and  tore 
herself  reluctantly  away. 

Indeed,  she  was  rather  proud  of  herself  in  that  she  could  thus 
calmly  consider  the  hypothesis  of  Walter  Lindsay  being  engaged 
to  be  married ;  but,  oddly  enough,  her  next  proceeding  was  to 
stop  in  front  of  a  shop-window  where  were  exhibited  a  number  of 
portraits  of  ladies  of  the  great  world  and  of  the  stage,  and  to  set 
about  asking  herself  whether  any  one  of  them  could  be  compared 
to  Sabina.  This  one  had  a  royal  carriage  of  the  head  that  was 
pensive-looking,  with  mysterious  dark  eyes;  the  other  was  bright, 
vivacious,  coquettish-looking.  But  where  was  the  one  of  them 
who  had  Sabina's  charm,  her  bland  gentleness,  her  gracious  repose? 
And  then  the  next  thing  was  to  wonder  if  Walter  Lindsay  would 
find  Sabina  as  beautiful  as  he  had  thought  her  in  the  former 
days?  Philip  said  she  was  more  beautiful;  but  then  Philip  wor- 
shipped the  3Iater  dolorosa  type  in  women  ;  and  Janie  was  not  at 
all  anxious  that  Lindsay  should  be  struck  with  that  aspect  of  Sa- 
bina. Oh  no  ;  long  before  he  should  set  eyes  on  her,  Sabie  would 
be  back  in  Kensington  Square ;  the  rose-leaf  tint  would  be  return- 
ing to  her  cheeks  and  lips;  there  would  be  a  subdued  light  of 
happiness  in  the  calm  and  benignant  eyes.  As  for  Sabina's  gold- 
en-brown hair,  that  was  still  as  abundant  as  ever ;  not  all  her  trou- 
bles had  sufficed  to  interweave  in  it  a  single  silver  streak. 

Janie  got  her  shopping  done  somehow  ;  and  then  she  sped  away 
home,  and  sought  the  quietude  of  her  own  room.  She  was  rather 
a  superstitious  young  person,  in  a  half-duubting,  whinjsical  way; 
and  on  occasion  was  accustomed  to  consult  the  sortes  Vir(jiliance ; 
although  not  being  able  to  read  Virgil,  she  had  to  substitute  the 
Scriptures  as  the  early  Christians  did.  It  may  be  added  that  she 
was  not  strictly  methodical  in  her  divination  ;  for,  instead  of  tak- 
ing the  first  passage  that  met  her  eyes,  she  claimed  the  right  of 
searching  the  whole  of  the  chance-opened  page  for  an  appropriate 
verse — a  practice  which  frequently  got  rid  of  enigmas,  and  brought 
her  instead  some  little  comfort. 

So  now,  taking  the  small  liible  that  lay  on  her  dressing-table, 
she  shut  lier  eyes,  and  opened  the  loaves  at  random.  When  she 
came  to  look,  it  was  a  chapter  of  Isaiah  that  lay  before  her,  and 
quickly  she  glanced  over  the  verses.  This  one  was  the  last  on  tho 
page — and  Janie's  heart  was  rejoiced  and  glad  as  she  read  and  re- 


306  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

read  the  divine  promise  of  better  things  for  the  wasted  and  sor- 
rowing city  of  Jerusalem — "0  tho^i  afflicted,  tossed  with  tempest, 
and  not  comforted,  behold,  I  xoill  lay  thy  stones  with  fair  colours, 
and  lay  thy  foundations  loith  sapphires^ 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    EXILE'S   RETURN. 


It  was  not  nntil  the  month  of  December  in  that  year  that  Wal- 
ter Lindsay  left  for  home ;  and  a  very  cold,  gray,  and  cheerless 
passage  he  had  of  it  across  the  Atlantic.  But  a  landscape-painter, 
of  trained  observation  and  retentive  memory,  has  advantages  be- 
yond those  of  other  mortals.  At  will  he  can  dismiss  his  actual 
surroundings,  and,  by  the  mere  shutting  of  his  eyes,  summon  be- 
fore him  scenes  from  distant  lands ;  and  not  only  that,  but  these 
visions  are  ordinarily  of  unwonted  beauty,  because  it  is  their 
beauty  that  has  stamped  them  on  his  mind.  Nay,  he  can  occupy 
himself  with  filling  in  the  minutest  details  of  color  and  form, 
until  the  living  picture  stands  clear  and  sharp  before  him ;  no 
need  for  him  to  sadden  himself,  hour  after  hour,  with  the  monoto- 
nous waste  of  the  steel-gray,  slow-rolling  Atlantic  seas. 

You  may  be  sure  it  was  mostly  England  that  was  in  Lindsay's 
thoughts,  as,  wrapped  in  Canadian  furs,  he  paced  up  and  down  the 
chill  decks  on  these  blowy  mornings ;  or,  in  the  hushed  evenings, 
in  the  great  saloon,  lay  and  only  half  listened  to  the  heavy  throb- 
bing of  the  screw  and  the  occasional  singing  of  a  group  of  girls. 
And  he  tried  to  be  not  always  dreaming  about  Kensington  Square. 
Here,  for  example,  was  a  winter  scene  on  the  Sussex  coast;  and 
he  added  touch  after  touch  to  it,  as  if  he  had  a  canvas  before  him, 
and  with  a  kind  of  affection  almost.  A  bright  morning  shining 
over  the  wide,  smooth,  solitary  downs;  here  and  there  a  dark- 
green  tnrnip-field;  here  and  there  a  breadth  of  red  ploughed  land  ; 
a  farm-steading  near  the  horizon  ;  the  new  roofs  of  the  barns  and 
out-houses  scarlet-tiled,  the  old  roofs  orange-lichened.  A  small 
hamlet  in  a  distant  hollow  ;  a  few  pigeons  flying  about  the  weath- 
er-stained belfry  of  the  church-tower.  A  long,  winding,  ruddy-yel- 
low road  in  front  of  him,  of  chalk  and  sand  and  flint ;  the  pools 
of  recent  rain — those  near  him — of  a  brownish-saffron  hue  ;  those 


THE  exile's  KETURN.  307 

a  little  farther  off,  a  faint  purple  (the  reflected  blue  of  the  zenith 
mixing  with  the  local  color)  ;  those  still  farther  away,  of  the  most 
brilliant  azure.  A  cloudless  sky ;  a  cold  wind;  the  keen  sunlight 
striking  vividly  on  the  long-trending  lines  of  the  chalk  cliffs,  and 
on  the  wide  pale  plain  of  the  sea. 

Or  again  it  would  be  a  sheltered  little  bay  that  he  had  once  dis- 
covered in  the  far  northern  wilds  of  his  own  country — a  silent, 
unfrequented  curve  of  white  sand  facing  the  western  waves.  And 
what  beautiful  bits  of  color  he  found  there,  or  placed  there,  as  his 
fancy  chose :  brown  and  lilac  pebbles,  velvet-soft  in  the  light,  each 
with  its  touch  of  blue  shadow  ;  scattered  masses  of  ox-eye  daisies, 
hardly  moving  in  the  soft  summer  air;  thistles  purple-topped; 
the  crimson-stemmed  sorrel ;  the  silver-weed,  with  its  leaves  of  in- 
tensest  green,  and  its  long  rose-red  threads  stretching  out  over  the 
cream-white  soil,  and  rooting  themselves  here  and  there.  Behind 
him  a  golden-yellow  cornfield ;  before  him  a  sea  of  driven  and 
vivid  blue;  beyond  that  a  pale  line  of  distant  hills;  and  above 
these  again  a  sky  of  faintest  turquoise,  deepening  and  deepening 
into  a  dark  sapphire  overhead. 

Moreover,  he  had  cultivated  this  habit  of  minute  and  patient 
picture-building  for  an  especial  reason.  Once  or  twice  it  had  oc- 
curred to  him  that  his  eyesight  was  not  as  good  as  it  liad  been. 
Now  an  artist  is  naturally  extremely  sensitive  on  this  point;  and 
it  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  that  in  the  solitariness  of  his  life 
among  the  Canadian  lakes  or  on  the  wide  Colorado  plains  he 
should  sometimes  have  been  haunted  by  gloomy  forebodings.  On 
such  occasions  he  would  summon  his  philosophy  to  his  aid,  and 
boldly  face  the  worst.  What,  then,  if  he  were  to  become  blind  ? 
He  had  enough  to  live  on.  Probably  he  had  given  to  the  world 
the  best  he  could  do  as  an  artist.  He  would  retire  to  some  place 
familiar  to  him — Galloway  most  likely,  and  spend  there  a  by  no 
means  miserable  existence ;  for  surely,  if  his  attendant  gave  him 
a  hint  or  two — the  flowers  by  the  wayside,  the  look  of  the  sky, 
the  number  of  ships  visible  from  Kirkcolim  Point,  and  the  like — 
he  could  construct  out  of  his  own  memory  some  recognizable  pict- 
ure of  his  surroundings.  No  number  of  years  could  make  him 
forget  (for  example)  the  colnr  of  the  silver-weed's  rose-red  stems 
creeping  out  on  the  milk-white  sand.  And  then  again,  in  some 
distant  time,  he  might  come  to  London.  Perhaps,  at  Janie's 
house,  he  would  meet  Sabina.    And  then  would  he  not  have  rca- 


308  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

son  to  rejoice?  "  Why,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  "  look  what  an 
advantage  you  have  over  all  these  others.  Sabina  is  middle-aged 
now  ;  perhaps  her  hair  is  streaked  with  silver;  perhaps  the  youth- 
ful brilliancy  has  faded  away  from  her  kind  eyes.  These  others 
see  all  that;  you  do  not.  When  you  hear  her  speak,  she  is  still 
to  you  the  Sabina  of  former  years ;  to  you  she  remains  ever  beau- 
tiful, youthful,  radiant ;  her  eyes  are  more  than  kind,  they  have 
the  witchery  of  young  womanhood;  and  so  it  will  be  to  the  end. 
She  grows  old  to  others,  not  to  you.  So  thank  God  for  your 
blindness,  and  rest  well  content."  Of  course  these  were  the  mor- 
bid imaginings  of  a  solitary  life  and  distant  travel.  When  he  re- 
turned to  New  York — and  to  the  Tile  Club,  and  the  Monks  of  St. 
Giles,  and  the  theatres,  and  dinner-parties,  and  the  ordinary  amuse- 
ments and  occupations  of  social  life — he  forgot  all  about  them, 
and  ceased  to  trouble  his  head  about  the  matter. 

But  if  these  were  beautiful  pictures  of  England  he  was  sum- 
moning up,  as  he  paced  the  deck  under  the  leaden-gray  sky,  or 
sate  in  the  saloon  of  an  evening,  listening  to  the  dismal  boom  of 
the  fog-horn  overhead,  England  sorely  disappointed  him  when  he 
arrived  there.  It  was  raining  heavily  at  Liverpool ;  and  Liver- 
pool, on  a  wet,  darkening  December  afternoon,  is  not  an  exhilarat- 
ing sight.  On  his  journey  up  to  London  next  day  a  cold,  damp 
mist  lay  over  the  land,  and  the  great  hive  of  the  metropolis,  as  he 
drove  through  the  sombre  streets,  was  scarcely  the  brilliant  city 
of  his  memories  and  dreams.  But  when  he  reached  his  home, 
there  something  more  cheerful  awaited  him;  for  Janie  (who  had 
a  house,  and  her  husband  a  studio,  of  their  own  now)  had  been 
along  to  see  that  the  house-keeper  had  everything  in  readiness; 
and  there  was  a  big  fire  hazing  in  the  dining-room,  and  luncheon 
was  on  the  table ;  and  there  were  a  few  flowers  also,  placed  there 
by  Janie's  own  hands ;  altogether  the  place  looked  exceedingly 
bright,  warm,  comfortable,  and  home-like. 

Luncheon  did  not  take  him  long;  but  there  was  a  vast  pile  of 
letters,  prints,  and  packages  to  be  glanced  through ;  then  he  was 
ready  to  go  out.  But  whither?  He  wished  to  see  Janie,  but  it 
Avas  rather  early  yet  for  an  afternoon  call.  Eventually  he  put  on 
his  coat  and  hat  and  went  out,  and  by  instinct,  rather  than  inten- 
tion, wandered  idly  down  to  High  Street,  Kensington. 

It  was  strange  to  find  himself  in  the  old  familiar  thoroughfare, 
and  it  looking  so  different  from  bis  storied  memories  of  it.    Some- 


THE  exile's  return.  309 

how  he  had  been  used  to  picture  it  as  under  the  light  of  a  clear 
summer  afternoon,  himself  come  out  after  his  day's  work,  perhaps 
with  some  faint  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  tall  form  of  Sa- 
bina,  on  her  way  homeward  to  Kensington  Square.  But  now  the 
short  December  day  was  drawing  into  dusk  ;  a  pale  blue  mist  hung 
about;  the  streets  were  miry.  It  is  true  that  with  all  this  the 
neighborhood  wore  a  festive  air;  evergreens  and  holly  berries  were 
in  the  shop-windows ;  the  pavements  were  crowded  with  elderly 
people  who  seemed  benign  of  aspect,  and  who  were  generally  ac- 
companied by  small  folk  who  had  the  delight  and  excitement  of 
Christmas  presents  clearly  shining  in  their  eyes.  And  he  was  glad 
to  be  home  in  England  for  Christmas. 

At  last — at  last — and  perhaps  with  some  trifle  of  heart-throb- 
bing that  he  would  hardly  care  to  have  owned — he  went  a  little 
way  down  Young  Street,  so  that  he  could  look  across  Kensington 
Square.  It  was  a  doleful  sight  enough  ;  the  leafless,  smoke-black- 
ened trees,  the  dank  green  grass,  the  dingy  laurels,  the  bedraggled 
chrysanthemums;  with  the  melancholy  gray-blue  pall  of  the  twi- 
light weighing  heavier  and  heavier,  and  as  yet  unpierced  by  a  sin- 
gle orange  ray.  And  yet  he  had  a  curious  kind  of  affection  for 
this  place,  and  the  keenest  interest  in  it ;  and  those  old-fashioned 
houses  over  there  had  a  charm  for  him  beyond  any  range  of  palaces 
in  Venice.  They  were  very  different,  doubtless,  from  his  dreams  of 
them  in  the  far  Canadian  wilds.  There  they  had  been  of  a  golden 
cast,  with  light  summer  airs  floating  about  them,  and  a  June  foli- 
age on  the  trees;  now  they  were  dark,  and  indeed  almost  becom- 
ing invisible  in  the  closing  down  of  the  melancholy  London  after- 
noon. But  they  were  actual.  They  had  human  life  within  them. 
Was  it  possible  that  on  this  northern  side  (which  he  could  not  see) 
Sabina  might  he  standing  at  the  window  of  the  well-rcinembered 
drawing-room,  looking  out  on  this  very  picture  of  desolation  ?  lie 
dared  not  go  nearer.  He  wished  to  be  prepared  for  meeting  lier, 
if  he  was  to  meet  her.  But  he  lingered  about  there  for  some  time, 
until,  of  a  sudden,  a  shaft  of  golden  fire  flashed  through  the  dusk 
from  the  first  lighted  of  the  lamps  ;  and  he  thought  he  might  now 
go  and  call  upon  his  ever-faithful  friend. 

He  found  Janie  in  possession  of  a  smart  little  house  in  Victoria 
Road ;  and  the  moment  he  entered  the  drawing-room,  she  came 
quickly  to  meet  him,  with  both  hands  extended,  and  with  abundant 
friendliness  beaming  in  her  mild  gray  eyes. 


310  SABINA   ZEMBKA. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !"  she  cried  ;  and  added,  rather  inco- 
herently, "  and  all  of  us — all  of  us — of  course  you  ought  to  be 
back  in  your  own  country.  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  back!" 
But  there  was  some  surprise  in  her  face  too.  "And  how  you  have 
changed  !  I  don't  believe  I  should  have  known  you  if  I  had  met 
you  in  the  street.     You  are  more  like  a  hunter  than  an  artist !" 

"I  have  been  living  a  good  deal  of  a  backwoodsman's  life  these 
last  two  or  three  years,"  he  said ;  and  indeed  she  could  have  guessed 
as  much,  for  the  fine-featured  face  had  lost  all  its  pallor  of  former 
days,  and  become  evenly  sun-browned ;  and  his  tall  and  slender 
figure  had  a  touch  of  added  breadth  ;  and  there  was  a  more  mus- 
cular set  of  the  shoulders.  Janie  was  quite  proud — though  she 
did  not  stay  to  ask  herself  why — to  see  him  look  so  handsome  and 
■well. 

Of  course  there  were  a  hundred  rapid  and  cheerful  questions  to 
be  put  and  answered  ;  and  she  gave  him  all  the  information  she 
had  about  the  people  known  to  them  ;  but  the  subject  really  up- 
permost in  both  their  minds  was  sedulously  left  out.  Janie  was 
a  little  frightened,  in  truth.  Perhaps  he  had  come  home  engaged  ? 
Or  he  might  even  have  brought  a  wife  with  him  ?  On  his  side 
some  kind  of  delicacy  kept  him  silent.  And  so  it  came  about  that 
it  was  quite  by  accident  that  Sabiua  was  brought  into  the  conver- 
sation. 

Behind  him  there  was  a  picture  he  had  not  as  yet  seen ;  for  he 
was  seated  facing  the  window.  It  was  let  into  a  panel  over  the 
mantle-piece ;  and  on  the  oak  framework  there  was  inscribed,  in 
curious  characters,  the  word  "  Hesperus."  The  subject  was  the 
solitary,  upright  figure  of  a  tall  young  woman,  clad  in  loose  draper- 
ies, moving  through  the  ethereal  spaces  of  the  evening  sky  ;  some 
sombre  gleams  of  red  beneath  her  feet;  the  darkening  heavens 
above  her  showing  here  and  there  a  distant  star  ;  her  upraised  arm 
and  hand  holding  high  before  her  a  ball  of  luminous  white  fire. 
Her  face  was  sad  and  wan  ;  her  mouth  pensive  ;  her  eyes  wide  apart 
and  mysterious  and  dim.  Mannered  even  to  the  verge  of  affecta- 
tion, this  was  really  a  very  creditable  piece  of  work  ;  it  showed,  at 
all  events,  imaginative  effort ;  and  as  it  was  a  wedding-present  that 
Janie  had  received  from  her  husband,  it  is  hardly  to  be  wondered 
at  that  she  had  insisted  on  its  occupying  the  place  of  honor  in  her 
drawing-room. 

Now  in  the  mutual  embarrassment  of  trying  to  avoid  all  men- 


THE   EXILES   KETUEX  311 

tion  of  Sabina's  name,  they  had  talked  about  a  large  variety  of 
persons  and  things;  and  at  last  Lindsay  came  to  speak  of  Janie's 
new  house,  which  her  husband  had  furnished  in  a  highly  superior 
fashion.  Happening  to  cast  his  eyes  about  the  room,  he  caught 
sight  of  this  picture,  and  there  was  something  about  the  look  of 
the  head  that  caused  hira  to  get  up  and  go  nearer.  But  he  had 
not  been  there  for  a  second — gazing  at  the  pensive  face  and  the 
dim  and  mystic  eyes — when  Janie  was  at  his  side. 

"  But,  you  know,  Mr.  Lindsay,"  she  said,  rather  breathlessly  and 
anxiously, "  you  mustn't  think  that  is  really  like  her — really  like 
her,  I  mean — you  know,  that  is  only  Phil's  way  of  painting — Sa- 
ble isn't  quite  so — quite  so — sad-looking  as  that.  Of  course  it  is 
a  little  like ;  but  it  was  done  from  photographs  and  recollection ; 
and,  you  know,  Phil  will  paint  in  his  own  way.  Oh  no,  don't 
think  Sabie  is  like  that!" 

And  Walter  Lindsay  thought  to  himself,  "  Well,  men  say  that 
women  are  never  really  friends  among  themselves.  But  here  is  a 
woman  who,  for  fear  that  an  unfavorable  impression  of  a  friend 
of  hers  may  be  produced  on  a  casual  stranger,  is  quite  content  to 
speak  slightingly  of  her  own  husband's  work." 

"She  is  in  London?"   he  said,  looking  at  those  saddened  eyes. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Janie,  who,  now  that  the  ice  was  broken,  proved 
as  eager  to  give  information  as  before  she  was  reticent.  "  No ;  I 
wish  she  was.  She  won't  leave  that  house  in  Surrey,  no  matter 
what  we  say ;  it  seems  it  was  a  wish  of  her  husband's ;  though 
why  she  should  respect  any  wish  of  his,  or  his  memory  either,  I 
can't  make  out.  Oh,  Mr,  Lindsay,  I  never  told  you  half  the  truth 
about  poor  Sabie.  I  couldn't.  I  thought  it  was  no  use  making 
you  wretched — I  mean,  I  naturally  imagined  you  would  remem- 
ber something  of  her,  however  far  away  you  might  be,  and  you 
mightn't  like  to  hear,  ill  news  of  a  friend.  And  I  need  not  tell 
you  now,  either,  for  it  is  all  over,  and  I  hope  Sabie  will  forget  it 
in  time.  And  sooner  or  later,  I  know,  we  shall  have  Sabie  com- 
ing to  London  ;  and  there  are  two  houses,  anyway,  where  there  is 
a  home  and  a  warm  welcome  awaiting  her  ;  for  Phil  is  just  as 
good  as  g(^l(l — why,  where  do  you  think  he  is  just  now?" 

"  Pni  sure  I  don't  know." 

"Away  buying  Christmas  toys  to  send  down  to  the  little  boy. 
And  a  rare  hash  he  will  make  of  it,  I  suppose  ;  for  how  should  he 
know  ?     But  I  thought  I  would  stay  in,  as  I  expected  you." 


312  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

She  went  back  to  her  seat  by  the  table,  and  he  followed  her. 

"  I  suppose  you  see  her  sometimes,"  he  said. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  answered ;  and  then  she  added,  quickly,  "  And 
if  you  were  to  call  upon  her,  there  would  be  no — no  embarrass- 
ment ;  for  we  have  tacitly  agreed  never  to  speak  about  the  past  at 
all.  It  is  the  best  way ;  and  we  adopted  it  from  the  very  begin- 
ning. You  know  Phil  has  a  great  deal  of  common-sense  and 
wisdom  for  one  of  his  dreamy  and  poetical  nature,  and  he  warned 
me,  the  first  time  I  went  down  to  see  Sabie,  that  if  I  said  any- 
thing against  Foster,  she  might  very  likely  turn  on  me  to  defend 
liim.  Very  well,  I  said  to  myself,  if  I  am  to  say  no  harm  of  him, 
I  will  say  no  good  of  him  ;  for  I  am  not  going  to  tell  lies,  even 
in  the  way  of  condolence;  and  if  Sabie  likes  to  forget,  I  won't. 
Of  course  it  was  very  awkward,  and  I  looked  forward  to  meeting 
her  with  dread;  but  there  happened  the  greatest  stroke  of  luck. 
Just  as  I  got  out  of  the  train  at  Witstead  Station,  so  did  Sir  An- 
thony Zembra.  I  suppose  she  had  sent  for  us  both  on  the  same 
day;  but  it  was  pretty  fortunate  we  should  go  down  by  the  same 
train.  I  thought  that  Sir  Anthony  would  have  forgotten  me  ; 
but  he  spoke  to  me,  and  we  walked  to  the  house  together.  Do 
you  see  how  lucky  it  was?  I  had  to  tell  no  lies  anyway,  or  pro- 
fess a  grief  that  I  certainly  didn't  feel  ;  nothing  but  the  most  or- 
dinary commonplaces  were  said  ;  Foster's  name  was  hardly  men- 
tioned ;  what  Sir  Anthony  wanted  mostly  was  to  get  her  to  re- 
move to  London.  You  should  have  seen  how  he  figured  and 
posed  as  the  injured  party,  how  magnanimously  he  offered  to  for- 
get the  past;  and  produced  a  check  for  one  hundred  pounds — 
this  was  before  me,  mind — to  defray  all  little  expenses  and  leave 
her  free  to  move  into  the  house  he  offered  to  take  for  her.  I  do 
believe  he  thought  he  was  the  most  magnanimous  man  in  this 
country  at  that  moment,  and  was  himself  astonished  that  he  did 
not  complain  of  her  conduct  or  say  hard  things  of  her  dead  hus- 
band. Not  that  I  quarrel  with  him  on  that  account ;  the  dear 
departed  would  have  had  none  of  my  tears,  if  they  had  been  asked 
for.  And  you  should  have  seen  Sir  Anthony's  splendid  air  when 
he  announced  to  her  that  he  should  now  give  her  the  same  allow- 
ance that  she  had  before  her  marriage ;  as  if  she  had  condoned 
everything  now  by  burying  that  wretch." 

Janie  stopped  suddenly,  and  her  pale  face  showed  a  little  color. 

"Please,  Mr.  Lindsay,  you  won't  think  me  cruel !     Phil  says  I 


THE    EXILES    RETUKX.  313 

am  unwomanly.  But  you  don't  know — and  he  doesn't  know — 
■what  poor  Sabie  has  suffered.  Not  that  she  shows  much  trace  of 
it — oh  no.  Oh,  you  must  not  think  that  at  all,"  said  Janie,  ear- 
nestly. "She  may  be  a  little  grave  in  manner;  but — but — you 
must  rather  think  of  her  as  she  was  the  night  of  your  supper- 
party — you  remember? — only  not  dressed  like  that;  for  I  think 
she  is  pinching  and  saving  hard  on  account  of  the  boy.  I  assure 
you,  Sabie  is  just  as  beautiful  as  ever — a  little  paler  perhaps;  and 
you  remember  the  splendid  hair,  and  the  sweet  mouth,  and  the 
way  she  walked,  as  if  all  the  world  were  hers.  You  can't  throw 
that  off  in  a  minute;  and  now,  when  you  find  her  in  a  good-hu- 
mor, and  laughing,  and  playing  with  the  boy — well,  it's  just  beau- 
tiful to  look  at !     I  do  wish  you  could  see  her!" 

But  here  again  Janie  stopped  suddenly,  conscious  of  indiscre- 
tion. He  sate  silent  for  a  second  or  two ;  then  he  said  (not 
noticing  the  familiarity), 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  truth,  Janie.  I  went  away  to  America  hop- 
ing to  forget  a  good  deal.  Yes,  I  thought  that  was  natural.  I  had 
no  complaint  to  make  ;  I  had  no  bitter  memories  to  carry  with  me  ; 
no,  it  was  rather  many,  n)any  kindnesses  that  I  had  to  remember, 
if  I  remembered  anything;  but  at  all  events  I  expected  to  forget 
what  I  wanted  to  forget ;  and  if  anybody  had  said  to  me  that  I 
should  come  back  married,  I  should  have  answered  that  I  did  not 
think  so,  but  that  it  was  not  in  the  least  impossible.  I  have  been 
away  about  two  years  and  a  half.  It  is  not  a  very  long  time, 
perhaps,  but  I  have  had  the  chance  of  seeing  a  great  many  people, 
and  have  had  long  spells  of  solitude  and  reflection.  Well,  I  am 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  there  is  but  the  one  woman  in  the 
world  for  me — no,  stop  a  moment,"  he  said,  calmly,  for  he  could 
not  see  that  her  eyes  had  flashed  with  pride  and  pleasure;  "don't 
imagine  I  am  going  to  rush  in  the  moment  there  is  no  longer 
any  obstacle,  and  ask  her  to  marry  me.  I  don't  think  I  ever  did 
actually  ask  her  to  marry  me,  though,  I  suppose,  she  guessed. 
No ;  what  I  say  is,  there  is  now,  and  must  always  be  for  me,  but 
the  one  woman  in  the  world,  only  it  is  for  her  to  choose  what 
relationship  should  exist  between  us,  and  I  will  abide  by  that. 
If  she  would  ratiier  be  my  sister — my  com  pan  ion — my  friend, 
good  ;  let  it  be  so.  But  if  I  am  to  be  her  friend,  1  must  claim 
the  privileges  of  a  friend;  and  you  seem  to  think  she  is  not  so 
well  off  as  she  might  be.  Well,  I  did  not  spend  very  much  dur- 
14 


314  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

ing  these  two  or  three  years  in  America — the  Scotch  are  a  penn- 
rioiis  race,  you  know ;  and  I  got  through  a  good  deal  of  work. 
What  do  you  say,  now — will  you  find  out  how  I  can  help  her?" 

"How  can  I? — but — but — but  the  first  thing  for  you  is  to  go 
and  see  her!"  said  Janie,  rather  wildly.  "  Mr.  Lindsay,  when  Phil 
comes  home  with  the  parcels,  will  you  take  them  with  you,  and 
go  down  to-morrow  to  Witstead  ?  It  would  be  an  excuse.  I 
want  you  to  see  Sabie !" 

"  No,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  Not  yet.  I  must  think  over  how  I 
am  to  meet  her." 

At  this  moment  Janie's  husband  was  heard  at  the  front  door, 
and  presently  entered  with  his  bundles  of  toys.  After  a  few 
■words  he  carried  Lindsay  off  to  his  studio,  no  doubt  anxious  for 
a  little  encouragement ;  and  so  Janie  was  left  alone  in  the  front 
part  of  the  house.  Her  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  She  was  prophe- 
sying all  kinds  of  beautiful  things  for  her  beloved  Sabie.  The 
rescuer  had  come.  Andromeda  was  to  have  her  chains  dashed 
off  at  last.     And  again  and  again  there  rang  through  her  head 

the  lines — 

"  Sir  David  Lindsay  of  the  Mount, 
Lord  Lyon  King  at  Arms," 

as  if  that  heroic  couplet  could  in  any  way  be  made  to  refer  to  one 
of  the  Lindsays  of  Carnryan,  who,  besides,  was  but  a  mere  nine- 
teenth-centnry  landscape-painter,  recently  come  home  from  Amer- 
ica with  a  few  dollars  in  his  pocket. 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

NEW  QUARTERS. 


"And  this  is  what  they  call  the  jocund  morn,"  Walter  Lindsay 
remarked  to  himself,  as  he  was  leisurely  dressing  by  gaslight.  It 
was  about  nine  o'clock.  Outside,  the  great  world  of  London  lay 
steeped  in  a  heavy  and  slumberous  fog,  dense,  immovable,  myste- 
rious, with  here  and  there  a  black  ghost  passing  through  the  saf- 
fron-bued  darkness.  And  yet  he  did  not  complain  overmuch. 
There  were  other  and  more  cheerful  visions  before  his  eyes.  He 
was  about  to  take  a  little  run  down  into  Surrey,  just  to  recall 
•what  an  English  winter  was  like  in  the  country  ;  and  it  was  quite 


NEW    QUARTERS.  315 

possible  that  he  might  be  led  into  making  a  series  of  water-color 
studies — extending  over  several  months,  indeed — if  only  he  could 
find  convenient  quarters. 

Nor  did  he  at  all  seek  to  conceal  from  himself  that  his  main 
purpose  in  going  down  into  the  country  was  that  he  might,  per- 
haps, have  Sabina  for  neighbor.  No ;  on  the  contrary,  he  strove 
to  persuade  himself  that  he  should  approach  her  without  any 
anxiety  or  misgiving  whatever.  Why  should  there  be  any  em- 
barrassment? He  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  trembling 
hopes  and  fears.  It  was  for  Sabina  herself  to  decide  what  their 
relationship  should  be — of  the  simplest,  if  so  she  wished  it.  But 
she  could  hardly  refuse  him  her  friendship.  She  would  not  turn 
away  from  him  without  reason.  And  it  would  be  a  very  pleasant 
thing  for  him  to  know  that  this  beautiful  sister  and  companion — 
or  acquaintance,  even,  if  she  preferred  that — was  not  more  than 
an  hour  or  two's  walk  away.  Perhaps  she  would  give  him  a  cup 
of  tea  as  he  passed.  They  might  meet  at  church  of  a  Sunday 
morning,  and  stroll  homeward  together.  He  could  leave  little 
presents  for  the  boy,  or  illustrated  papers  and  magazines  for  her- 
self, or  a  basket  of  fruit,  perhaps,  got  down  from  Covent  Garden. 
Sister  and  friend,  if  so  she  wished  it ;  he  was  content.  And  so 
he  looked  forward  to  meeting  Sabina  with  equanimity  and  a  light 
heart. 

During  the  morning  matters  outside  mended  somewhat ;  the 
fog  grew  gradually  thinner;  and  by  the  time  he  issued  forth,  the 
sun  was  actually  visible — appearing  like  a  small  Ilispano-Moresque 
plate  in  an  atmosphere  of  opaque  milky-white.  It  was  a  long 
way  across  London  to  Waterloo  Station  ;  when  he  reached  that 
hollow -resounding  place,  with  its  cold  platforms  and  shivering 
porters,  there  was  even  a  faint  suggestion  of  blue  in  the  sky ;  he 
was  now  secure  of  a  bright  day  for  his  first  dip  into  Surrey. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  on  this  occasion  he  would  not 
seek  to  see  Sabina.  He  would  merely  have  a  look  round  the 
neighborhood,  to  discover  whether  it  would  suit  his  purpose. 
His  own  dim  recollection  of  it  was  that  it  was  pretty  flat — healthy 
commons,  ponds,  scattered  villages,  and  so  forth.  But  in  any  case 
there  was  more  variety  a  little  way  farther  to  the  south — by  Box 
Hill  and  Mickleham  Downs;  and  then  again  it  was  atmosplicric 
effects  he  was  aiming  at  rather  than  j)rnn()iinc(Ml  landscape.  Krosty 
moonlight  nights,  snow-scenes,  wan  wintry  sunrises,  and  the  like; 


316  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

these  were  what  he  was  after;  he  could  afford,  in  this  series  of 
studies  at  least,  to  dispense  with  the  conventionally  picturesque. 
And  if  he  did  happen  to  meet  Sabina,  on  this  journey  of  explora- 
tion, of  course  he  would  speak  to  her.  She  would  hardly  be  sur- 
prised. It  was  a  landscape-painter's  business  to  be  about  the 
country  in  all  seasons.  He  would  tell  her  his  aims.  And  she 
would  understand  that  his  choice  of  this  neighborhood  was  dic- 
tated chiefly  by  the  fact  of  there  being  a  convenient  little  hotel  at 
Burford  Bridge,  which  would  afford  him  excellent  headquarters. 

But  still — still — as  the  train  jogged  on  its  way  through  the 
wintry  English  landscape — with  its  irregular  little  fields  and  tall 
hedges,  its  dank  raw  greens  and  reds,  its  pale  sunshine  and  vapor- 
ous distances — he  began  to  be  less  convinced  that  he  should  meet 
Sabina  in  this  easy  and  matter-of-fact  fashion.  There  were  some 
things  he  could  not  quite  forget.  He  could  not  quite  forget  how, 
in  former  days,  when  Sabina  made  her  appearance — whether  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs  at  the  Royal  Academy,  or  alighting  from  her 
cabin  front  of  his  own  house,  or  as  he  casually  encountered  her  in 
Kensington  High  Street — there  was  a  kind  of  bewilderment  caused 
by  the  straightforward  look  of  her  clear,  beautiful  bland  eyes. 
He  could  not  forget  the  glamour  of  her  presence  as  she  sate  be- 
side him  at  the  supper-table ;  the  charm  of  her  smile,  the  mystic 
fascination  of  her  voice,  and  his  own  desperate  anxiety  to  be  kind 
to  her  and  to  entertain  her  in  every  possible  way.  Things  were 
changed,  it  is  true.  Then  she  was  the  admired  of  all — radiant 
and  beautiful  and  queenly ;  conferring  favor  by  the  mere  touch 
of  her  hand;  bringing  with  her  an  atmosphere  of  light  and  hap- 
piness and  sunshine  whithersoever  she  went ;  now  she  was  solitary 
and  apart  from  friends,  and  a  widow.  And  then  he  remembered 
— in  these  rather  wistful  reveries,  as  he  sate  and  looked  out  on 
the  ever-changing  wintry  landscape — that  Monna  Giovanna  was  a 
widow  when  at  last  Federigo  won  her  love.  But  then  Monna 
Giovanna  was  rich,  and  had  everything  to  give  ;  whereas  Federigo 
when  he  had  sacrificed  his  falcon  for  her  sake,  had  parted  with 
the  last  of  his  possessions.  And  then  again  he  recalled  Janie's 
often-repeated  saying,  "There  is  but  the  one  way  of  winning  Sa- 
ble's love,  and  that  is  through  her  pity."  He  was  in  no  promis- 
ing case,  then  ?  In  honest  truth,  he  could  not  compassionate  him- 
self about  anything.  He  was  in  the  best  of  health,  with  the  years 
still  lying  lightly  on  his  shoulders ;  he  had  won  for  himself  a  po- 


NEW   QUARTERS.  31 V 

sition  as  an  artist  which  he  considered  quite  commensurate  with 
his  merits ;  he  was  of  good  descent ;  he  had  more  money  than 
met  his  needs;  he  had  lots  of  friends.  He  knew  of  no  particular 
reason  why  he  should  be  pitied ;  except,  perhaps,  that  he  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  very  much  in  love  with  a  woman — and  even  in 
that  direction  he  did  not  struggle  hard  with  his  fate. 

"  Witstead !" 

The  sudden  sound  startled  him  out  of  these  reveries,  and  invol- 
untarily and  quickly  he  glanced  round  the  little  platform.  But 
there  was  no  one  going  away  by  the  train,  and  he  was  the  only 
person  who  alighted ;  when  he  had  given  up  his  ticket  and  passed 
through  the  small  building,  he  found  himself  alone,  with  the  road 
lying  before  him  towards  the  village. 

And  here  he  paused,  in  dire  uncertainty,  almost  in  fear.  It  was 
one  thing  to  think  of  Sabina  when  he  was  three  or  four  thousand 
miles  away  ;  it  was  another  to  lind  himself  almost  within  a  stonc's- 
throw  of  her,  so  that  any  moment  he  might  find  himself  confront- 
ed by  her  startled  eyes.  If  only  he  could  at  once  go  forward  and 
take  her  hand  and  say,  "  Dear  friend,  don't  be  alarmed.  It  is  true 
I  have  come  to  see  you — to  be  near  you.  But  I  will  vex  you  with 
no  importunities.  You  shall  be  my  sister,  if  you  wish  it — my 
sister  and  friend ;  and  I  will  ask  you  to  let  me  see  you  occasion- 
ally, and  to  help  you  in  any  way  that  may  arise."  But  would 
not  these  very  explanations  be  embarrassing — nav,  impossible? 
And  now  he  wished  he  had  gone  on  to  Burford  Bridge,  and  re- 
mained there  until  the  arrival  of  his  painting-materials.  He  had 
not  even  a  note-book  and  pencil  with  him  to  make  pretence,  sup- 
posing he  were  suddenly  to  meet  Sabina,  and  have  to  tell  his  tale. 
And  what  if  slie  were  to  resent  his  coming  thus  unannounced  and 
uninvited  ?  He  began  to  think  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  avoid 
"Witstead  ;  there  would  be  some  other  route  by  which  he  could 
make  his  way  to  Burford  Bridge. 

And  yet  an  overpowering  fascination  of  curiosity  drew  him  on, 
bit  by  bit,  towards  the  village.  He  regarded  the  most  trivial 
things  aroimd  liiin  with  the  keenest  interest.  This  road,  now — 
crisp  and  hard  it  was  in  the  grij)e  of  the  frost,  and  the  ruts  made 
by  the  cart-wheels  were  gleaming  white  with  ice — this  was  the 
road  Sabina  would  come  along  each  time  she  went  to  London. 
And  of  course  she  would  be  quite  familiar  with  all  these  things — 
the  wintry  hedges,  the  wide  stretch  of  common,  with  its  patches 


318  BABINA    ZEMBRA. 

of  dark-green  gorse,  the  pond  now  ruffled  into  silver  by  a  slight 
wind  from  the  north.  And  still  lie  went  on,  with  an  eye  cast  well 
forward.  If  only  he  could  see  her  cottage,  then  he  would  go 
away  content.  But  how  was  he  to  make  out  which  of  these  strag- 
gling houses  was  hers?  He  met  no  one,  and  so  could  not  ask. 
As  he  drew  nearer,  he  could  see  two  or  three  small  children  play- 
ing about ;  otherwise  the  main  thoroughfare  seemed  quite  de- 
serted; for  although  there  were  two  heavily  laden  wains  in  front 
of  the  Checkers,  the  drivers  had  gone  inside.  Finally,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  he  took  heart  of  grace,  walked  boldly  for- 
ward, crossed  the  road,  and  entered  the  inn. 

He  was  received  by  the  daughter  of  the  house,  a  pretty,  buxom, 
blue-eyed  little  wench,  who  seemed  to  regard  the  tall,  bronzed, 
black-eyed  stranger  with  much  and  evident  favor.  For  not  only 
did  she  politely  invite  him  into  the  bar-parlor,  but  she  offered 
him  a  newspaper,  and  poked  up  the  fire  for  him  ;  and  when  she 
brought  him  the  ale  and  biscuits  and  cheese  he  had  ordered  (in 
the  mean  time  she  had  snatched  a  moment  to  look  at  her  hair, 
and  arrange  her  smart  little  cuffs),  she  seemed  quite  willing  to 
wait  and  be  asked  questions,  which  she  answered  smilingly  and 
graciously.     And  this  led  to  a  notable  discovery. 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  a  very  quiet  neighborhood,"  she  was  saying ; 
and  then  she  added,  with  a  little  laugh,  "But  it  wasn't  last  week. 
You  know  we  got  our  man  in,  sir." 

"  No,  I  didn't  know,"  he  said — though  he  suspected,  from  cer- 
tain damaged  placards  he  had  seen,  that  there  had  been  a  county 
election  recently.  "  I  have  been  away  from  England  for  two  or 
three  years,  and  have  just  come  back." 

"  Have  you  indeed,  sir !"  she  exclaimed,  as  if  that  were  a  very 
remarkable  occurrence. 

"And  who  was  the  lucky  candidate?"  he  continued. 

"  Sir  Tyrrell  Drake,  sir." 

"  Oh,  really,"  he  said,  with  some  surprise.  "  Well,  he  is  a  good 
man." 

"  He  is  a  very  kind  gentleman — he  is  very  much  liked  about 
here,"  she  said,  pleasantly. 

"  But  you  don't  mean  that  he  is  still  at  Beaver  Court  ?  I  thought 
he  had  taken  it  for  only  a  season  or  two,  for  the  shooting." 

"  He  has  bought  the  Court,  sir.  Oh  yes,  that  was  about  eigh- 
teen months  ago,  I  think," 


NEW    QUARTERS,  319 

"  Really  !"  he  said  ;  and  for  a  minute  or  two  the  amiable  )'oung 
lady's  volunteered  information  about  Beaver  Court  and  its  con- 
nection with  local  politics  received  remarkably  small  attention. 
His  mind  was  off  on  a  rapid  little  trip.  Of  course  Sabina  would 
be  known  to  the  clergyman  of  the  parish ;  of  course  the  clergy- 
man would  be  known  to  the  owner  of  Beaver  Court,  which  was 
one  of  the  great  houses  in  the  neighborhood.  Lindsay  had  be- 
come very  friendly  with  this  Sir  Tyrrell  Drake,  through  meeting 
him  at  more  than  one  shooting-box  in  Scotland,  and  so  what 
more  simple  than  to  have  conveyed  to  Sabina  in  tliis  way  the  in- 
formation that  he  was  established  at  Burford  Bridge,  and  tliat 
there  would  be  nothing  remarkable  if  she  should  happen  to  meet 
hira  ?  She  would  be  prepared.  There  would  be  no  danger  of 
startling  her.  Their  friendship  would  be  resumed  in  an  easy  and 
natural  way ;  it  would  be  no  matter  for  wonder  if  he  called  upon 
her,  and  took  the  little  presents  for  the  boy. 

When  he  had  paid  his  shot,  and  was  about  to  leave,  he  said  to 
the  gracious  and  friendly  handmaiden, 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  a  Mrs.  Foster  who  lives  about  here  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  sir,"  was  the  instant  answer.  "  The  poor  dear 
lady  is  very  lonely  now ;  she  is  a  widow  now,  perhaps  you  know, 
sir?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  absently.  And  then  he  added,  "  Is  her  house 
in  the  village  or  outside  V 

"  If  you  step  into  the  road  I  will  show  you." 

He  followed  her,  and  she  pointed  out  to  him  the  cottage,  which 
stood  sotnewhat  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  place,  with  a  bit  of 
ground  in  front,  and  apparently  a  larger  space  of  garden  behind. 
He  was  rather  glad  that  he  could  go  on  his  way  without  passing 
the  cottage;  but  he  stood  looking  at  it — until,  indeed,  he  was 
recalled  to  his  senses  by  the  young  lady  of  the  inn  saying  to  him, 

"Good-morning,  sir,  and  thank  you  !" 

"  Oh,  good-morning — and  thank  you  very  much!"  he  said — 
and  therewith  she  tjipped  into  the  hostelry,  with  just  one  brief, 
swift,  and  perhaps  casual  glance  from  the  door-step  at  the  hand- 
some stranger,  who  was  now  walking  briskly  away  southward. 

And  he  was  well  content  that  now  he  knew  the  actual  and 
veritable  house  that  hold  Sabina;  and  he  was  glad  to  be  in  tho 
neighborhood  ;  and  whenever  chance  brought  him  that  way,  ho 
would  know  the  precise  spot  that  his  cyos  would  seek  for.     lu' 


320  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

deed,  so  well  satisfied  was  he  with  his  morning's  work  that,  as  he 
got  farther  and  farther  down  into  the  country,  he  began  to  devote 
his  mind  to  other  things,  and  to  liave  a  look  about  him  for  pos- 
sible subjects.  To  an  ordinary  observer  there  was  not  much  that 
was  promising;  for  although  there  was  a  perfectly  cloudless  sky 
overhead,  and  the  pale  December  sunlight  was  flooding  the  land, 
wintry  desolation  was  too  apparent,  the  woods  were  leafless,  the 
trees  nearer  at  hand  looked  black.  That  is  to  say,  to  an  ordinary 
observer  the  trees  might  have  looked  black,  but  to  the  trained  eye 
of  a  landscape-painter  there  is  nothing  black  in  the  countrv — ex- 
cept the  rooks.  As  regarded  these  very  trees,  he  was  noting  with 
delight  the  golden-green  of  their  stems  on  the  sunward  side,  and 
the  beautiful  deep  rose -purple  of  their  spreading  masses  of 
branches  and  twigs.  Indeed  for  him  there  was  no  lack  of  color 
anywhere.  There  was  the  ruddy  bronze  of  the  fallen  beech- 
leaves;  there  was  the  dull  yellow  of  the  foliage  of  the  scrub-Oak; 
there  was  the  sparkling  green  of  ivy  and  laurel,  and  the  heavier 
green  of  the  firs ;  the  tall  hedges  were  starred  with  the  red  or 
purple-red  berries  of  the  hawthorn,  the  wild-rose,  and  the  yew ; 
here  and  there  the  high  banks  were  hanging  with  the  silvery-gray 
fluff  of  the  wild  clematis.  Oh  yes,  he  should  have  plenty  of  em- 
ployment. There  were  greater  things  than  these  to  tax  his  skill. 
The  ever-changing  heavens  would  present  him  with  their  slow- 
moving  transformations,  from  the  lonely  splendor  of  the  dawn  to 
the  mystery  of  the  coming  night ;  the  snow  and  the  frost  would 
be  his  companions ;  the  moonlit  woods  would  have  secrets  to  re- 
veal. And  he  was  especially  fortunate  in  this,  that  the  public 
were  very  good  to  him,  and  did  not  grumble  when  he  would  insist 
on  doing  his  work  in  his  own  way.  He  might  be  as  patient  and 
faithful  and  minute  as  he  chose — or  as  elusive  and  subtle  and 
faintly  suggestive — and  they  did  not  complain.  Doubtless  they 
knew  they  could  get  chromo-lithographs  elsewhere. 

When  he  got  down  to  Box  Hill,  he  first  of  all  had  a  look  round 
the  neighborhood,  and  saw  there  what,  with  a  little  straining  of 
conscience,  served  to  confirm  him  in  his  purpose.  Then  he  pro- 
ceeded to  the  Burford  Bridge  Hotel,  and  managed  to  secure  what 
seemed  to  him  very  snug  and  comfortable  rooms.  And  finally  he 
ascertained  that  Sir  Tyrrell  Drake  was  then  living  at  Beaver  Court, 
though  they  could  not  tell  him  whether  Sir  Tyrrell  had  got  through 
his  pheasant-shooting  of  the  year.     The  fact  is,  Lindsay,  though 


TOGETHEK.  321 

he  bad  now  to  say,  "  For  I  must  to  the  greenwood  go,"  had  no 
thought  of  going  as  "a  banished  man."  He  expected  to  spend 
the  time  very  pleasantly  in  this  retreat;  and  if  his  work  should 
hold  him  mainly  bound  to  these  more  southern  regions,  still  there 
were  Sundays  and  other  occasional  holidays  when  a  little  trip  north- 
ward would  afford  him  relaxation.  If  only  that  first  meeting  were 
well  over  1  In  the  mean  while  he  walked  on  to  Reading,  and  took 
train  back  to  London,  anxious  to  get  his  preparations  made  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  himself  installed  in  these  new  quarters.  In  a 
couple  of  days'  time,  he  thought,  he  should  be  established  at  Bur- 
ford  13rid<rc. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

TOGETHER. 


Eventually,  as  it  proved,  it  was  the  merest  chance  tliat  threw 
him  in  Sabina's  way.  On  the  afternoon  of  his  leaving  London  for 
the  country,  when  his  painting-gear  had  been  packed,  and  put  on 
the  top  of  a  hansom,  he  drove  to  Victoria  Station.  The  place  was 
busy  and  thronged,  for  it  wanted  but  two  days  to  Christmas ;  and 
it  was  with  an  idle  and  yet  interested  curiosity  that  he  stood  and 
watched  the  holiday-folks,  while  the  porter  was  getting  down  his 
things  from  the  cab.  At  this  moment  an  omnibus  was  driven  up, 
and  about  the  first  person  to  alight  was  a  tall  young  woman,  dressed 
simply  in  black  and  partially  veiled,  who  was  carrying  some  parcels 
in  her  hand.  Now  any  woman  who  was  young  and  tall  attracted 
his  notice ;  it  was  a  habit  he  had  fallen  into ;  but  the  moment  he 
set  eyes  on  this  black-draped  figure  his  heart  jumped.  Nay,  as 
she  stepped  across  the  outer  platform  and  entered  the  ticket-office, 
his  wild  conjecture  became  a  certainty — how  could  he  mistake  that 
graceful,  easy  walk,  and  the  unconsciously  proud  set  of  the  head? 
Instantly  he  followed  her — uncertain  what  to  do  or  say — deter- 
mined only  not  to  let  her  out  of  his  sight.  She  passed  through  the 
crowded  tickct-ofiice  and  went  leisurely  across  the  |)latft)rni  towards 
the  book-stall.  He  caught  a  side  gliin[)se  of  her  face — and  a  thrill 
of  joy  and  wonder  and  almost  of  fear  flashed  through  his  frame. 
Indeed  this  was  Sabina — her  very  self — pale,  it  is  true,  but  as  beau- 
tiful as  ever;  he  might  have  known  it  was  she  by  the  luxuriant, 
14* 


322  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

soft,  golden-brown  hair  that  the  small  black  hat  and  veil  only  served 
partially  to  conceal. 

"  Mrs.  Foster!"  he  said,  almost  breathlessly. 

She  turned  sharply  and  suddenly,  with  a  frightened  look  on  her 
face;  but  she  recognized  him  almost  at  once,  and  then  she  gave 
him  her  hand,  in  a  somewhat  hesitating  manner. 

"  How  do  you  do  V  she  said.  "  I  heard  you  had  come  back  to 
England.     I  saw  Janie  this  afternoon." 

"  I — I  am  afraid  I  startled  you,"  he  said. 

"  It  was  the  strange  voice — that  was  all,"  she  answered ;  and 
now  she  was  speaking  with  perfect  self-composure. 

"  Let  me  carry  your  things  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  No,  thank  you,  they  are  quite  light.  Merely  some  little  pres- 
ents for  two  or  three  children  I  know." 

"Shall  I  get  your  ticket?" 

"I  have  a  return,  thank  you." 

It  seemed  so  extraordinary  to  be  standing  here  talking  to  Sabina 
about  these  commonplace  trifles,  just  as  if  he  had  bade  her  good-by 
yesterday  in  Kensington  Square.  And  after  that  first  brief  shock 
of  surprise,  she  appeared  to  be  quite  calm  and  collected  ;  it  was  he 
who  was  rather  bewildered  and  breathless,  and  anxious  to  talk 
about  a  great  many  things  at  once.  For  he  remembered  Janie's 
hint.  The  past  was  past,  and  there  was  an  understood  compact 
that  it  should  lie  buried  and  forgotten.  It  was  the  things  of  the 
present  he  had  to  talk  about,  in  this  interval  of  waiting  for  the 
train;  except,  indeed,  when  Sabina  was  so  kind  as  to  ask  hira 
about  his  travels,  or  his  intentions  as  regarded  the  future. 

He  left  her  for  a  moment  to  look  after  his  luggage ;  and  then 
these  two  went  down  the  platform  together  to  the  train — a  strik- 
ingly handsome  couple,  as  one  or  two  of  the  by-standers  appeared 
to  think.  The  young  widow  was  neatly  dressed,  too;  Lindsay,  at 
least,  was  sure  that  black  became  her  pale  complexion  and  her 
soft-braided  sun-brown  hair. 

They  reached  the  carriages. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  in  a  gentle  and  friendly  way,  and  she 
held  out  her  hand. 

"But  mayn't  I  come  with  you  ?"  he  said,  with  evident  surprise. 
"You  go  to  Witstead,  don't  you?  Well,  I  am  for  Burford 
Bridge.     It  is  the  same  train." 

"  I  am  going  third  class,"  she  said,  simply ;  and  then  she  added, 


TOGETHER.  323 

with  a  smile, "  You  know  I  have  to  be  very  economical  nowa- 
days." 

"  You  always  were  very  economical,"  he  answered,  quickly. 
"And  I  am  going  third  class,  too.  Economy!  You  don't  know 
what  is  expected  of  us  poor  artists.  I  am  afraid  to  walk  along 
the  streets  with  a  decent  hat  on  my  head." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Why  ?     In  case  any  of  the  art-critics  should  see  me." 

He  could  not  explain  at  the  moment.  lie  had  to  get  his  para- 
phernalia stowed  into  the  farther  end  of  a  third-class  carriage,  and 
then  he  asked  her  to  step  in ;  and  then  he  turned  to  the  guard, 
who  was  coming  along. 

*'  Look  here,  guard,  I  have  a  lot  of  breakable  things  here  that  I 
don't  want  moved.  I  suppose  you  can  keep  the  compartment  for 
us?" 

A  couple  of  half-crowns  slipped  into  the  guard's  hand  accom- 
panied this  inquiry ;  the  next  minute  he  was  seated  in  the  car- 
riage, with  the  door  locked,  and  he  was  alone  with  Sabina.  In 
order  to  remove  any  embarrassment,  he  took  up  his  parable  again 
— lightly,  cheerfully,  discursively,  as  if  talking  to  her  were  the 
most  ordinary  and  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

"  But  it  isn't  because  we  arc  poor  that  we  artists  ought  to  prac- 
tise economy ;  oh  no ;  the  cry  against  us  is  that  we  are  all  so 
wealthy  and  purse-proud  and  prosperous.  That  is  why  English 
art  is  in  its  decadence.  Did  you  know  that  English  art  was  in 
its  decadence  ?" 

*'  I  should  not  have  said  so — not  in  landscape,  anyway,"  she 
added,  with  a  touch  of  flattery. 

"But  it  is.  You  see,  art  always  is  in  its  decadence, according 
to  contemporary  critics.  Very  well,  then  ;  they  have  to  find  a 
reason  for  it,  and  the  reason  at  present  is  that  in  England  artists 
are  paid  too  well.  They  live  in  comfortable  houses;  buy  bric-a- 
brac  ;  their  wives  wear  satins  and  silks;  therefore  the  pampered 
sons  of  fortune  can't  paint.  If  they  cared  for  their  art — if  they 
cared  for  anything  but  money  and  profusion  and  dis[)lay — they 
would  go  and  live  the  life  that  Millet  lived — " 

"J.  V.  Millet,  you  mean?"  she  asked,  thougli  she  judged  by  his 
manner  that  he  was  only  talking  to  auHisc  her. 

"  Yes.  As  if  Millet  painted  wrll  simply  because  he  was  a  sin- 
gularly unlucky  man,  and  was  badly  treated ;  or  iis  if  he  wouldn't 


324  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

have  lived  a  very  different  life  if  be  bad  bad  the  cbance.  But 
take  tbe  other  side  of  the  question.  If  being  paid  for  one's  work 
— if  living  in  a  decent  bouse — or  even  being  received  at  conrt — is 
destructive  of  the  artist's  aims,  bow  did  Vandyke  and  Reubens 
and  Velasquez  manage  to  paint  at  all  ?  You  don't  suppose  that 
Titian  starved,  or  Raphael,  or  Michael  Angelo  ?  Turner  did  not  die 
a  pauper.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  painted  some  passable  things,  too, 
though  be  did  not  live  in  a  garret.  Well,  you  know,  all  that  is  tbe 
Grub  Street  notion  of  the  arts.  And  yet  1  am  not  sure  that  Grub 
Street  has  done  so  much,  after  all.  Shakespeare  didn't  live  there 
— be  bought  houses  and  lands  and  tithes.  Milton  didn't  live  there ; 
nor  Pope,  nor  Dryden,  nor  Wordsworth,  nor  Byron,  nor  Shelley, 
nor  Scott.  Indeed  I  am  not  so  certain  that  our  critics,  who  ex- 
hort us  to  live  in  a  garret,  and  cultivate  literature  and  painting  on 
a  little  oatmeal — I  am  not  quite  certain  that  they  live  there  them- 
selves. On  tbe  press  day  at  tbe  Academy,  I  know  I  have  seen 
more  than  one  brougham  drive  into  tbe  coilrt-yard  of  Burlington 
House.  Now  that's  wrong.  That  is  very  wrong.  If  a  man's 
work  goes  to  tbe  dogs  when  he  gets  well  paid,  bow  about  a  critic 
in  a  brougham?  Perhaps  they  don't  think  it  matters  much  what 
becomes  of  criticism,  and  so  they  may  have  their  bouses  in  Ken- 
sington, their  boxes  at  tbe  play,  their  fine  dinner-parties,  while  we 
are  ordered  off  to  make  water-color  drawings  at  forty  francs  apiece, 
or  else  be  denounced  as  traitors  to  our  art,  and  hucksters,  and 
panderers  to  fashion.     It's  a  little  bard,  though,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  They  would  be  quite  pleased  to  see  you  as  you  are  now,"  Sa- 
bina  said,  with  a  smile,  "in  a  third-class  railway-carriage." 

"  Yes,"  be  said.  "  I  must  manage  to  have  it  put  in  tbe  papers 
— they  put  everything  in  the  papers  nowadays." 

However,  there  was  not  much  of  serious  malice  in  this  mock 
complaint  of  bis  ;  for  indeed  tbe  critics  had  been  very  kind  to  him, 
as  far  as  be  knew,  and  sometimes  bad  even  gone  out  of  their  way, 
in  their  usual  pessimistic  wail,  to  make  of  him  an  especial  excep- 
tion, as  one  whose  work  showed  undeviating  high  purpose.  It 
was  merely  the  first  subject  that  had  suggested  itself  on  bis  get- 
ting into  this  third-class  carriage;  it  served  its  purpose  of  remov- 
ing any  restraint  between  Sabina  and  himself ;  and  by  the  time 
he  bad  completed  a  whimsical  contrast  between  tbe  lot  of  a  critic 
in  London,  living  in  luxury,  frequenting  his  clubs,  gossiping 
through  Private  Views,  and  perhaps  even  seated  at  the  Royal 


TOGETHER.  325 

Academy  banquet,  and  the  lot  of  a  poor  devil  of  an  artist  in  the 
Canadian  wilds,  with  half-frozen  fingers  cooking  his  own  meals, 
and  sleeping  at  night  in  a  shivering  tent — by  the  time  he  had  put 
these  two  people  before  her,  and  sought  to  enlist  her  sympathy  on 
behalf  of  one  of  them,  they  were  rattling  away  down  into  Surrey, 
with  the  dusk  of  the  December  afternoon  stealing  gradually  over 
the  land. 

In  his  heart  he  thanked  Janie.  It  was  ever  so  much  more  satis- 
factory to  be  talking  about  the  merits  of  English  portrait-painting 
than  to  be  offering  sham  condolences ;  and  Sabina  showed  that 
she  was  not  at  ail  shocked  by  his  apparent  callousness,  for  she  was 
most  friendly  and  pleasant  towards  him.  That  was  until  they 
reached  Witstead  ;  there  her  manner  changed.  For  now  the  dusk 
had  deepened,  and  of  course  he  said  that  he  would  get  out  there 
and  escort  her  home — making  his  own  way  to  Burford  Bridge  on 
foot;  and  he  was  a  little  surprised  that  she  should  so  earnestly 
ask  him  not  to  think  of  such  a  thing. 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  insist,"  he  said.  "  What,  do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  let  you  walk  away  alone  through  the  dark?" 

"  I  assure  you  I  am  quite  used  to  it,"  she  pleaded.  "  Please 
don't  let  me  put  you  about  so.  Do  you  know  how  many  miles 
it  is  to  Burford  Bridge  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  very  well.     Here,  guard  !" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  When  you  get  to  Burford  Bridge,  just  give  those  things  to 
the  station-master,  will  you,  and  tell  him  I  will  send  for  them  this 
evening." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

Of  course,  when  she  saw  that  he  was  determined,  she  forbore  to 
protest  any  further,  and  she  relinquished  to  him  the  parcels  she 
was  carrying;  then  they  set  forth  together  along  the  desolate  road 
and  through  the  ever-deepening  and  darkening  twilight.  lie  liid 
not  walk  fast — though  Sabina  was  a  notable  walker,  and  liked 
brisk  exercise.  lie  wished  this  solitary  way  were  thrice  as  long. 
And  it  was  so  strange  to  find  himself  alone  in  the  world  with  her, 
as  it  were,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  with  one  or  two  stars  just 
becoming  faintly  vi.'sible  through  the  thin  mist  that  lay  all  around 
them.  Now  and  again  a  parcel  that  he  carried  would  touch  her 
dress.  That  was  being  close  enough  to  Sabina.  That  was  not 
like  being  some  three  or  four  thousand  miles  away,  half  dreaming. 


326  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

over  a  camp-fire,  of  England,  and  of  a  woman's  face  set  round 
about  with  an  aureole  of  golden-brown  hair,  and  shining  with  be- 
nignant eyes.  And  he  wondered  why  Sabina  had  been  so  anxious 
that  he  should  not  walk  with  her  from  the  station.  Did  she  wish 
him  not  to  see  how  small  the  place  was  in  which  she  now  lived? 
No ;  that  was  not  like  Sabina,  who  was  simplicity  itself  in  such 
matters.  And  as  if  it  could  matter  to  him  where  Sabina  lived — in 
hovel  or  in  palace — so  long  as  she  was  his  friend. 

"  You  will  be  distributing  vour  presents  to-morrow,  I  suppose  ?" 
he  said  (though  the  silence  and  the  light  sound  of  her  foot-fall  on 
the  frosty  road  were  delightful  enough). 

"They  can  hardly  be  called  presents,"  she  answered,  simply. 
"  The  fact  is,  Janie  and  her  husband  have  sent  me  down  everything 
that  could  be  imagined  for  my  own  little  boy  ;  and  as  I  had  to  be 
in  London,  I  thought  I  might  as  well  bring  some  bits  of  things 
for  a  few  of  the  children  about.     But  why  to-morrow  ?" 

"  You  will  spend  Christmas-day  at  home  ?"  he  said,  at  a  venture. 

"Yes,  I  shall,"  she  said.     "But  you  forget — my  home  is  here." 

"  I  meant  London,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  perhaps  you  might 
be  going  up  to  your  friends — to  the  Wygrams,  for  example." 

"No,"  she  said,  shortly.  "I  am  not  going  anywhere  at  pres- 
ent.    And  you — where  shall  you  be  ?" 

He  could  not  help  smiling — though  she  did  not  see.  For  well 
he  recognized  the  old  abrupt  manner — the  straightforward  frank- 
ness that  used  to  startle  him  a  little  bit  sometimes.  And  highly 
pleased  was  he  to  find  her  placing  him  on  the  old  friendly  footing. 

"  Oh,  I  ?"  he  said.  "  Well,  one  or  two  people  have  been  so  kind 
as  to  take  pity  on  a  forlorn  bachelor;  and  I  was  thinking  of  go- 
ing to  the  house  where  there  were  the  most  children — for  they 
make  the  fun  of  Christmas;  but,  do  you  know,  I  really  think  I 
shall  stay  at  Burford  Bridge." 

"  Christmas  in  a  hotel  ?"  she  said.  "  Won't  you  find  that  very 
lonely  ?" 

"  Loneliness  and  I  have  been  pretty  constant  companions  since 
I  left  England,"  said  he,  "and  we  manage  to  get  on  very  well  to- 
gether. We're  on  the  best  of  terms,  and  hardly  ever  tire  of  each 
other.  But  if  I  should  find  Burford  Bridge  just  a  trifle  too  dull 
on  Christmas-day,  I  may  walk  over  and  call  on  you  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  You  know  I  want  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  your 
little  boy." 


TOGETUEE.  327 

She  answered  neither  yes  nor  no ;  and  it  was  too  dark  for  him 
to  see  by  her  face  how  she  took  his  proposal.  Presently  she  said, 
rather  slowly, 

"  I  think,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  accept  one  of  those  invitations. 
It  hardly  seems  Englisli-like  to  spend  Christmas  in  a  hotel.  And 
there  must  be  many  of  your  friends  delighted  to  welcome  you 
after  so  long  an  absence." 

"  Oh,  I  think  I  shall  keep  to  Burford  Bridge,"  he  said,  cheer- 
fully, "  if  I  don't  put  the  good  people  about.  I  should  be  a  stran- 
ger now  if  I  went  to  any  one's  house.  I  shall  do  very  well  by 
myself." 

They  were  arrived  at  the  front  gate  of  the  little  cottage. 

"  Well,  whether  you  go  up  to  town  or  not,"  she  said,  "  I  wish 
you  a  Merry  Christmas." 

He  took  her  hand. 

"  I  wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas,  and  many,  many,  many  happy 
New-years." 

Perhaps  there  was  just  a  trace  of  too  much  earnestness  in  this 
speech,  for  she  somewhat  distantly  said, 

"  Good-night.  I  am  sure  your  friends  must  be  glad  to  see  you 
looking  so  well." 

And  then  he  shut  the  little  gate,  and  also  bade  her  good-night, 
and  directly  afterwards  was  making  off  to  the  southward  as  fast 
and  as  joyfully  as  he  could  go — his  footsteps  sounding  sharply  on 
the  hard  road,  a  dim  mist  hanging  all  around,  the  Pleiades  over- 
head showing  merely  as  a  small  faint  patch  of  silver  haze,  a  large 
planet  burning  more  clearly  in  the  south. 

Then  there  was  dinner  in  the  comfortable  little  hotel ;  and 
there  were  big  logs  piled  on  the  fire  of  his  sitting-room  ;  and  his 
pipe  was  lit;  and  there  were  visions  there — not  in  the  least  of  a 
mournful  character.  Ilis  mind  was  going  back  over  many  things 
— the  evenings  of  former  years;  and  he  wondered  if  she  some- 
times recalled  them  too.  And  most  of  all  he  lamented  that  he 
had  no  keepsake  or  souvenir  of  these  happy  nights,  as  linking  her 
memory  of  them  with  his.  The  only  thing  he  possessed  that  was 
associated  with  Sabina  was  the  chalice  of  rock-crystal  out  of 
which  she  hail  sipped  to  please  him  ;  and  he  thought  he  would 
have  that  brought  down  for  Christmas-day — not  to  drink  out  of, 
but  to  grace  his  solitary  table.  If  only  she  had  given  him  some 
small  trinket  in  these  far-off  days !    A  rose,  even,  at  Mrs.  Mellord's 


328  SABINA    ZEMBUA. 

ball :  be  would  bave  bad  tbe  leaves  embalmed  in  a  small  gold 
casket,  that  he  could  have  attached  to  bis  watch-chain.  That 
was  the  night  she  bad  come  into  the  hall  as  if  in  a  cloud  of  ra- 
diant white;  that  was  the  night  she  had  gone  with  him  into  the 
half-lit  supper-roora,  with  its  festoons  and  beds  of  roses,  and  had 
lain  lazily  back  in  her  chair,  with  the  one  diamond  in  her  necklet 
flashing  from  time  to  time  as  she  breathed.  Or  perhaps  be  would 
bave  been  more  fortunate  if  he  bad  prayed  for  some  token  of  re- 
membrance on  tbe  evening  she  spent  at  his  own  house  ?  She  was 
more  than  kind  and  complacent  that  night — as  they  sate  at  table 
together.  He  remembered  some  verses  of  a  ballad  of  his  own 
country — of  his  own  country,  indeed — 

"  0  dinna  ye  mind,  love  Gregory, 
When  we  sate  at  the  wine. 
How  we  changed  the  napkins  frae  our  necks  ? 
It's  no  sae  lang  sinsyne. 

"And  yours  was  gude,  and  gude  enough. 
But  no  sae  gude  as  mine ; 
For  yours  was  o'  the  carabriuk  clean, 
But  mine  o'  the  silk  sae  fine. 

"And  dinna  ye  mind,  love  Gregory, 
As  we  twa  sate  at  dine, 
How  we  changed  the  rings  frae  our  fingers, 
And  I  can  show  thee  thine  ? 

"  And  yours  was  gude,  and  gude  enough, 
Yet  no  sae  gude  as  mine. 
For  yours  was  o'  the  red,  red  gold. 
But  mine  o'  the  diamond  fine." 

Cambric  or  silk,  gold  or  diamond,  it  would  have  mattered  little 
to  him  what  this  trinket  might  be,  if  only  Sabina  bad  given  it  to 
bim  as  a  pledge  of  remembrance.  And  here  now  was  Christmas 
come — when  friendly  gifts  and  souvenirs  were  permitted  accord- 
ing to  common  custom.  From  her  to  him  ? — that  was  hardly  to 
be  thought  of.  From  bim  to  her? — well,  that  was  matter  for 
long  and  cheerful  consideration,  as  the  yellow  logs  and  roots 
blazed  up  in  tongues  of  crimson  fire,  and  his  pipe  was  lit  again 
and  again,  and  the  slow  half-hours  crept  on. 


"o'  BYGANE    DAYS   AND   ME."  329 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

"O'  BYGANE  DAYS  AND  ME." 

Early  next  morning  he  was  off  and  up  to  London ;  and  he 
made  straight  for  Covent  Garden,  and  for  a  florist's  shop  there. 
There  were  two  or  three  men  about  the  place,  and  a  young  lady 
behind  the  counter;  and  naturally  he  turned  to  the  young  lady 
behind  the  counter,  as  likely  to  be  more  sympathetic  and  obliging. 

"  I  want  you  to  make  me  up  a  basket  of  flowers,"  said  he. 

"If  you  please.  About  what  price?"  said  the  young  lady, 
with  amiable  eyes. 

"  Ah,  we'll  talk  about  that  later  on,"  he  answered.  "  You  see, 
I  want  it  arranged  according  to  my  own  fancy.  I  am  an  artist 
— like  yourself,  and  this  time  you  will  let  me  have  my  own  way 
about  the  colors." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  sir — of  course.  Will  you  tell  me  what  flowers 
you  would  like?"  she  said,  politely. 

He  took  a  chair,  and  sate  down  at  the  counter;  tore  a  leaf  out 
of  his  pocket-book,  and  began  to  draw  some  lines  with  his  pencil. 

"I  see  you  have  in  the  window  all  the  flowers  that  would  be 
necessary.  Well,  then,  I  want  you  to  take  a  circular  basket — a 
pretty  big  one — yes,  that  will  do — and  line  it  with  green  moss, 
leaving  the  moss  to  be  the  outside  ring — so.  Then  comes  a  cir- 
cle of  white  hyacinths — say  about  that  breadth  proportionately. 
Then  comes  a  circle  of  those  red  tulips — a  single  line  of  them. 
Then  comes  a  broader  circle  of  white  camellias.  Now  for  the 
centre :  the  centre  is  to  be  entirely  of  heart's-ease — nothing  else. 
Do  you  understand?" 

"  Oil  yes.  I  think  it  will  be  very  pretty,"  she  was  good  enough 
to  say. 

"  I  think  it  will." 

And  then,  Iiaving  given  her  strict  injunctions  about  choosing 
the  freshest  and  choicest  blossoms,  and  about  the  careful  packing 
of  the  basket,  he  turned  to  the  proprietor  of  the  shop.  He  want- 
ed a  box  of  fruit  made  up — as  large  as  one  could  conveniently 


330  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

carry  —  the  contents  white  grapes,  black  grapes,  pineapples,  and 
the  like.  Could  these  two  packages  be  sent  by  a  certain  hour  to 
Victoria  Station  ?  He  would  be  there  to  receive  them  and  pay 
the  messenger.  When  all  this  had  been  satisfactorily  settled,  he 
bade  good-raorning  to  the  pleasant-eyed  young  lady,  got  into  the 
hansom  again,  and  drove  off  to  his  studio  at  Notting  Hill. 

As  he  had  left  home  but  the  previous  day,  there  were  no  letters 
to  be  answered,  nor  further  instructions  to  be  given  to  his  house- 
keeper; his  only  business  was  to  get  out  from  a  cabinet  the  rock- 
crystal  cup  which  was  the  sole  souvenir  of  a  certain  memorable 
night.  And  so,  when  he  had  gone  down  to  Victoria,  and  was  on 
his  journey  back  to  Burford  Bridge,  he  was  bearing  with  him 
three  packages :  one,  a  basket  of  flowers  for  Sabina  (surely,  at 
such  a  time,  she  could  not  refuse  so  simple  a  present  ?) ;  the  sec- 
ond, a  box  of  fruit  for  the  little  boy  (he  hoped  he  had  not  erred 
in  his  selection — but  grapes  were  innocent  enough,  anyway)  ;  and 
the  third  a  crystal  chalice,  set  round  about  with  uncut  stones, 
which  was  to  adorn  his  Christmas  dinner-table,  and  perhaps,  in  his 
solitude,  act  as  a  magic  talisman  to  call  up  long  by-gone  scenes 
(as  if  it  were  so  difKcult  for  him  to  summon  back  the  well-re- 
membered evenings  on  which  he  and  Sabina  had  been  together!). 

However,  when  he  got  down  to  Burford  Bridge,  his  conscience 
began  to  smite  hira  a  little.  What  was  he  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
try for?  He  was  a  landscape-painter — with  his  work  to  do  in  the 
world.  And  if  it  was  as  yet  useless  for  him  to  unstrap  his  sketch- 
ing implements,  at  least  he  ought  to  be  looking  about  the  neigh- 
borhood for  possible  subjects.  And  so  when  he  had  obtained  a 
snack  of  late  luncheon,  he  went  wandering  carelessly  out  and  along 
the  road — over  the  bridge  that  spans  the  sluggish  Mole. 

To  tell  the  truth,  things  did  not  look  very  promising  on  this 
short  and  bleak  December  afternoon  ;  but,  by  turning  his  back  on 
the  now  westering  sun,  he  managed  to  get  what  color  w^as  going. 
There,  for  example,  was  a  strip  of  golden-yellow  fence;  over  that 
the  green  stems  of  some  leafless  trees ;  and  then,  behind  and  above 
those  trees,  the  dusky  height  of  Box  Hill,  mostly  of  a  misty  in- 
digo-blue, with  touches  of  russet  and  dark-green  here  and  there, 
and  here  and  there  a  series  of  pinky-gray  scaurs.  He  walked  on. 
There  was  a  suggestion  in  some  coldly-white  horses  in  a  dank 
green  field,  with  a  coppery  sun  just  sinking  behind  a  hill — the  hill 
in  pale  blue  shadow.     Again  he  walked  on.     Somehow  his  work 


"  O'  BYGANE   DAYS   AND   ME."  331 

did  not  seem  to  interest  him  much  this  afternoon.  It  was  Christ- 
mas-time, after  all.  There  was  an  unsettling  sense  of  hope  and 
elation  in  the  air.  He  wondered  if  to-morrow  would  be  fine  and 
clear  and  bright;  he  was  going  to  take  Sabina  her  flowers.  All 
over  England  that  afternoon  families  were  being  brought  together 
— some  of  the  members  from  distant  places  enough ;  the  Christ- 
mas Schwdrmerei  was  already  being  blown  into  flame ;  he  thought 
of  the  many,  many  happy  households.  Yes ;  and  of  the  house- 
hold of  the  young  widow,  who  would  be  solitary  enough  to-night 
in  that  little  cottage.  But  to-morrow  ?  She  might  be  kind  to  her 
one  visitor?     She  could  hardly  refuse  the  flowers. 

It  is  a  most  remarkable  circumstance  that  on  this  same  after- 
noon, just  as  the  gases  were  being  lit,  Santa  Claus  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  the  streets  of  the  small  town  of  Dorking,  in  actual 
and  bodily  shape,  though  in  a  guise  not  ordinarily  attributed  to 
him.  The  story  was  told  by  a  very  considerable  number  of  chil- 
dren, and  as  on  all  the  substantial  points  it  was  identical,  it  may 
safely  be  credited.  They  said  that  as  they  were  looking  into  this 
or  that  newly-lit  shop-window,  some  one  from  behind  tapped  them 
on  the  shoulder;  and  that,  turning,  they  saw  a  tall  man — some  of 
them  called  him  a  gentleman,  but  that  is  hardly  the  phrase  to  ap- 
ply to  Santa  Claus — brown-faced  and  black-eyed,  who  said,  "Go 
in  and  buy  something,"  and  put  in  the  hand  of  each  of  them  a 
coin.  In  the  surprise  that  followed,  the  stranger  vanished ;  but 
there  was  the  undoubted  white  thing — apparently  a  shilling — in 
the  palm  of  their  hand.  It  appeared  that  most  of  them  were  for 
going  home  to  ask  their  people  if  it  was  real ;  but  that  here  and 
there  a  youngster  more  intrepid  than  the  re&t  adventured  into  this 
or  that  shop  and  asked  for  a  pennyworth  of  something;  and  not 
only  came  out  again  to  show  his  com[)anions  his  purchase,  but 
could  produce  an  obvious  and  unmistakable  elevenpence  of  change 
to  convince  the  most  hesitating  mind.  Meanwhile,  what  had  be- 
come of  Santa  Claus?  ^Vhy,  he  had  gone  into  the  White  llorso 
Hotel,  and  was  drinking  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  bar,  and  asking  the 
landlord  where  and  when  was  the  next  meet  of  the  fox-hounds  in 
that  neighI)orhood ;  for  he  said  he  had  been  away  from  England 
for  some  little  tinie,  and,  now  that  he  had  come  back,  he  thought 
there  was  notliing  in  the  old  country  he  could  sec  more  English- 
looking  and  picturesque  and  inspiriting  than  a  run  with  the  fox- 
hounds on  a  clear  December  day. 


332  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

Lindsay's  hope  for  the  morrow  was  not  belied.  A  fairer  Christ- 
mas dawn  never  widened  up  and  over  the  county  of  Surrey ;  and 
already  he  was  on  the  top  of  Box  Hill,  whither  he  had  climbed 
before  breakfast,  despite  the  clammy  and  slippery  and  difficult 
chalk.  The  red  sun  rose  behind  heavy  cloud-banks  of  saffron- 
brown,  lying  low  along  the  horizon ;  but  over  these  the  eastern 
heavens  were  of  a  clear  and  lambent  lemon  yellow,  paling  into  a 
pearly  gray.  And  there  was  a  kind  of  rejoicing  in  the  soul  in 
looking  abroad  over  the  wide  landscape,  witli  its  fields  and  hedges 
and  farmsteads  and  church-spires,  and  here  and  there  a  tuft  of 
blue  smoke  rising  into  the  still  air.  And  well  he  knew  what  was 
happening  in  those  scattered  country-houses,  half  hidden  among 
the  leafless  trees.  The  children  were  examining  with  delight  and 
awe  the  mysterious  fairy  packages  that  had  been  left  for  them 
overnight  at  the  nursery  door;  the  young  folk  were  careering 
down  the  stairs,  to  search  the  pile  of  cards  and  letters  on  the  hall 
table;  the  older  people  were  still  lying  half-dozing  and  half- 
dreaming  of  former  days  ;  perhaps  somewhere — among  the  laurel- 
bushes — or  by  the  garden-gate — there  was  a  lover  regarding  a  high 
window,  and  ready  with  a  kiss  to  be  thrown  upward  from  eager 
finger-tips.  ^^  Wces-heil  /"  this  solitary  spectator  could  have  called 
to  the  wide,  awakening  land.  For  he  was  glad  to  be  at  home 
again,  to  be  in  his  own  country  once  more. 

The  first  train  after  morning  church  took  him  to  Witstead  ; 
then  he  walked  along  the  hard,  wintry  road  towards  the  village, 
carrying  the  two  packages  with  him.  He  was  hardly  apprehen- 
sive as  to  how  she  should  receive  him  :  this  was  the  season  for  the 
meeting  of  friends  ;  it  was  the  universal  custom  to  offer  little  gifts 
at  such  a  time ;  she  would  take  from  him  so  simple  a  thing  as  a 
basket  of  flowers. 

He  stopped  at  the  little  gate  and  rang  the  bell.  The  maid  came 
to  the  door. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Foster  at  home  ?"  he  said — not  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Can  I  see  her  for  a  moment  or  two  ?" 

"Step  inside,  sir,  and  I'll  ask.     "What  name,  sir?" 

The  next  moment  he  had  followed  the  little  maid  into  the  house, 
and  was  in  Sabina's  parlor.  He  put  the  fruit  and  flowers  on  the  ta- 
ble, removing  the  wrappers.     And  then  he  glanced  about  the  place. 

It  was  a  strange  kind  of  drawing-room  for  the  daughter  of  Sir 


"O'  BYGANE    DAYS    AND    ME."  333 

Antliony  Zembra  to  have.  Doubtless  there  were  many  small  neat- 
nesses here  and  there,  which  he  attributed  to  Sabina's  own  hand, 
but  the  furniture  was  cheap  and  showy — the  pretentious  British 
upholsterer  had  been  allowed  to  do  his  worst.  For  a  moment  he 
thought  of  what  a  labor  of  love  it  would  be  if  he  were  to  begin 
the  construction  and  beautifying  of  a  house,  somewhere  on  Camp- 
den  Hill,  for  choice,  with  some  remote  hope  of  her  one  day  enter- 
ing it  as  mistress.  And  while  the  builder  was  at  work  he  would 
be  away  abroad,  at  Tunis,  at  Cairo,  at  Smyrna,  ransacking  the 
bazaars  for  rugs  and  hangings,  and  tiles  and  brasswork,  and  what 
not  for  the  proper  decoration  of  her  home.  He  knew  of  some 
sixteenth  century  silk  embroideries  he  had  seen  in  Venice;  there 
was  an  alabaster  chimney-piece  he  had  nearly  brought  home  from 
Genoa,  though  it  would  have  been  something  in  the  nature  of  a 
white  elephant — 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  the  little  maid  at  the  door,  *'  missis's  compli- 
ments, and  she  will  be  down  in  a  moment." 

Then  she  went  away,  but  she  could  only  have  gone  into  the 
neighboring  apartment,  for  he  could  distinctly  hear  her  humming 
an  air  that  was  strangely  familiar  to  him.  And  then  he  remem- 
bered. Why,  this  was  the  familiar  old  air  with  which  his  mother 
liad  many  and  many  a  time  hushed  him  to  sleep.  And  where 
had  this  small  maid  picked  it  up?  From  her  mistress?  Had  Sa- 
bina,  then,  heard  some  Scotch  mother  slug 

"  0  can  ye  sew  cushions, 
And  can  ye  sew  sheets  ?" 

Now  that  he  thought  of  it,  he  was  not  quite  sure  that  Janie  had 
not  mentioned  it  in  one  of  her  letters. 

The  door  opened,  and  Sabina  appeared.  She  seemed  pale,  re- 
served, and  sericjus  beyond  her  wont ;  she  was  leading  her  little 
boy  by  the  hand. 

"  You  wished  to  sec  my  little  boy  ?     Here  he  is." 

The  child  was  chiefly  occupied  with  a  performing  monkey  in 
oxidized  silver,  one  of  Janie's  presents,  but  he  came  forward  frank- 
ly enough.  At  the  same  time,  and  involuntarily,  she  glanced 
towards  the  table. 

"  I  have  brought  yon  a  few  flowers,"  said  he,  lightly,  "and  also 
some  fruit  f<»r  this  youngster,  if  it  is  permitted  to  him.  It  will 
be  better  for  him  than  sweets,  anyway." 


334  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  very  much,"  Sabina  said,  and  she  went  to  the 
table  and  bent  down  her  head  over  the  flowers. 

Lindsay  drew  the  little  fellow  towards  him.  Who  could  doubt 
that  these  clear  brown  eyes  were  unmistakably  Sabina's  eyes? 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"  Harry,"  the  child  said,  still  busy  with  the  monkey. 

And  Lindsay,  looking  at  those  eyes,  said  to  himself,  "  Well, 
my  little  chap,  of  course  you  can't  know  that  in  the  years  to 
come  Carnryan  in  Galloway  will  be  yours.  And  you  will  have  to 
grow  up  to  be  a  brave  man — strong  and  honorable  and  generous 
to  women,  and  fit  to  be  the  owner  of  the  old  tower  of  Carnryan." 

Sabina  came  back. 

"  So  you  preferred  to  stay  down  in  the  country  ?"  she  said. 

"  Yes." 

"  It  will  be  a  lonely  Christmas  evening  for  you." 

He  looked  up  suddenly,  and  appealed  to  her  eyes.  AVas  she 
going  to  ask  him  to  share  her  solitude,  if  only  for  the  briefest 
time,  say  for  an  hour,  perhaps,  or  a  couple  of  hours,  as  the  after- 
noon faded  away  to  dusk,  and  the  lamps  were  lit?  It  seemed  so 
natural  a  thing.  These  two  isolated  creatures,  living  near  to  each 
other,  and  this  being  Christmas-time,  when  people  are  drawn  to- 
gether. But  she  noticed  that  look,  and  instantly  her  manner  be- 
came more  reserved  than  ever. 

"  Harry,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  you  have  put  that  thing  wrong 
again.     Come  here,  and  I  will  set  it  right  for  you." 

He  knew  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  yet  even  this  momentary 
slip  could  not  account  for  the  strange  coldness  and  distance  and 
reticence  of  her  manner  towards  him  when  he  began  to  talk  to 
her.  It  was  forced  on  him  only  too  clearly  that  his  presence  was 
an  embarrassment  to  her;  when  she  spoke  it  was  in  a  formally 
reserved  and  courteous  way — she  who  had  always  been  so  frank 
and  direct  and  straightforward.  Nevertheless,  the  charm  of  the 
beautiful  eyes,  the  calm  forehead,  and  the  proud,  sweet  mouth — 
the  serious  grace  and  dignity  of  her  every  movement  and  look — 
the  nameless  fascination  that  merely  being  near  her  threw  over 
him — kept  him  there  in  spite  of  himself;  and  also  perhaps  there 
was  added  some  remembrance  of  Sabina's  greater  kindness  to  him 
in  the  by-gone  days. 

At  length  he  rose  to  go,  and  she  accompanied  him  to  the  door. 
Then,  when  she  had  bade   him  good-by — and,  indeed,  when  he 


"  O    BYGANE   DAYS   AND   ME."  335 

was  half-way  across  the  little  patch  of  garden — she  seemed  to  re- 
lent for  a  moment. 

"  Mr.  Lindsay  !"  she  said. 

He  turned. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  did  not  half  thank  you  for  bringing  the  fruit  to 
the  little  boy,"  she  said,  in  a  hesitating  way.  "  I — I  see  so  few 
visitors — don't  think  me  ungrateful — " 

"Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  he  said,  good-naturedly,  "Tell  him  to 
look  alive  and  grow  up,  and  I'll  buy  him  a  pony." 

Then  he  bade  her  farewell  again,  and  went  on  his  way.  And 
if  he  was  a  little  comforted  by  that  brief  token  of  compunction 
(if  so  it  might  be  considered),  he  was  none  the  less  surprised  that 
Sabina  should  treat  him  in  so  cold  a  fashion.  He  had  been  scru- 
pulous in  offering  her  nothing  but  the  merest  friendship.  To  give 
her  a  basket  of  flowers  on  Christmas-day  was  surely  no  great  thiiii'. 
Why,  she  had  been  far  more  complacent  on  their  comin<r  down 
together  in  the  train.  And  he  could  not  for  a  moment  imagine 
that  Sabina's  embarrassment  and  reserve  was  owing  to  her  having 
to  receive  him  in  that  commonly  furnished  room. 

He  walked  away  over  the  hanl-frosted  country  and  round  by 
Headley  Hill  and  Mickleham  JJowns;  and  when  he  got  back  to 
Burford  Bridge,  he  found  it  was  almost  time  for  dinner.  Then 
he  brought  forth  the  precious  cup  of  rock-crystal  and  placed  it 
among  the  holly-berries  with  which  the  good  people  of  the  inn 
had  decorated  the  table.  It  looked  very  well  there.  It  would 
give  an  air  of  richness  and  magniticencc  to  the  frugal  little  ban- 
quet. And  he  thought  that  whatever  became  of  his  other  valu- 
ables and  possessions  (as  to  which  he  was  rather  careless,  for  he 
had  discovered  in  various  distant  lands  that  it  was  easy  to  get  on 
without  them),  this  treasure  at  least  should  remain  his.  It  would 
be  to  him  as  the  golden  goblet  of  the  King  of  Thule — '^  J)cn 
Beefier  nicht  zugleichy 

But  as  he  sate  at  his  solitary  Christmas  dinner  that  jewel-studded 
talisman  proved  to  be,  as  often  it  had  proved  before,  an  awakencr 
of  memories;  and  all  the  more  he  wondered  why  Sabitia,  who  had 
been  so  gracious  to  him  in  former  days,  should  be  so  unfriendly 
now.     Again  and  again  the  lines  came  into  his  head: 

"  0  (linna  ye  mind,  love  Grpf^ory, 
When  we  sate  ut  the  wine, 
We  changeil  our  napkins  frac  our  nccics? 
It's  no  sac  lang  sinsyne." 


336  SABINA   ZEMBEA. 

Surely  it  was  not  so  long  since  then  ? — and  about  her  having 
then  singled  him  out  for  very  especial  favor,  there  could  not  be  the 
slightest  doubt.  And  if  she  could  not  recall  those  days,  at  least 
he  could — to  the  minutest  details.  He  could  remember  hove, 
more  than  once,  at  Mrs.  Wygram's,  she  had  left  the  group  who 
were  surrounding  her,  and  crossed  the  room  to  talk  to  him  alone. 
At  Mrs.  Mellord's  ball,  at  the  Private  View  of  the  Academy,  at  the 
little  party  in  his  own  house,  and  on  other  occasions  she  seemed 
to  expect  him  to  devote  himself  entirely  to  her — which  undoubt- 
edly he  had  done.  And  now  her  coldness  of  manner,  her  studied 
reticence,  not  only  showed  that  she  had  forgotten  how  in  all  things 
he  had  tried  to  please  her,  and  amuse  her,  and  entertain  her,  how 
he  had  paid  her  every  attention  that  was  possible  in  the  circum- 
stances, but  also  they  seemed  to  say  that  for  the  future  she  would 
rather  have  none  of  his  acquaintance. 

He  was  rather  glad  to  have  done  with  this  solitary  dinner;  and 
then  he  lit  his  pipe,  and  drew  in  the  comfortable  easy-chair  to  that 
fire  of  briskly  blazing  logs. 

Forthwith  (so  varying  are  the  moods  of  men)  he  began  to  de- 
nounce himself  as  the  most  ungrateful  scoundrel  that  ever  breathed. 
What!  was  it  the  very  kindness  of  Sabina  towards  him  in  the 
past  that  was  to  be  made  a  weapon  of  reproach  against  her  now  ? 
She  had  given  him  everything  that  the  most  exacting  friendship 
could  demand — so  much  so  that  outsiders  mistook  the  relations 
between  them  altogether;  and  these  were  his  thanks!  And  was 
it  not  natural  that  she  should  be  a  little  embarrassed  by  this  first 
and  perhaps  unexpected  visit  of  his?  She  had  not  got  accus- 
tomed to  the  notion  of  his  being,  as  it  were,  a  next-door  neighbor. 
Then  she  was  a  young  widow,  living  alone  ;  and  people  were  always 
ready  to  talk.  As  for  his  unspoken  suggestion  that  he  should  re- 
main, and  share  her  Christmas  dinner  with  her,  perhaps  that  was 
really  of  a  nature  to  startle  her.  And  clearly — when  he  was  com- 
ing away  —  she  had  begun  to  regret  her  excessive  reserve,  and 
wished  to  part  friends.  Things  had  come  to  a  strange  crisis,  in- 
deed, if  he  could  cherish  any  grudge  against  Sabina. 

No ;  he  would  set  about  his  work  now,  and  get  on  with  that ; 
and  she  would  become  familiar  with  the  notion  of  his  being  in  the 
neighborhood ;  and  by  degrees  they  might  establish  the  coveted 
and  beautiful  relationship  of  old,  if  nothing  more.  And  so  he  re- 
lit his  pipe,  and  piled  on  more  logs  and  roots ;  and  there  grew  up 


NEIGHBORS.  337 

before  bis  eyes  a  picture  of  Sabina  standing  on  tbe  doorstep,  lau£;b- 
ing  and  radiant  and  happy-eyed,  while  he  led  away  the  youthful 
Harry  from  the  garden-gate — on  the  back  of  a  Shetland  pony. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
NEIGHBORS. 


After  that  day  he  set  resolutely  to  work;  and  very  cold  work 
it  was.  But  he  had  long  been  used  to  out-of-door  exposure ;  be 
bad  a  virile  physique;  and  then  some  unknown  friend — whose 
motive  for  withholding  his  name  was  beyond  conjecture — had  sent 
bim  a  kid-leather  coat  such  as  is  worn  in  early  spring  by  salmon- 
fishers  in  Norway,  and  there  was  much  warmth  and  satisfaction  in 
this  garment.  Nor  was  he  without  occasional  company.  The  two 
daughters  of  Sir  Tyrrell  Drake  had  a  couple  of  young  lady  friends 
staying  with  them  at  Beaver  Court ;  and  the  whole  four  of  these 
girls  were,  or  professed  to  be,  more  or  less  of  amateur  artists,  and 
keenly  interested  in  painting.  It  was  remarkable  how  often  they 
bad  occasion  to  drive  round  by  Burford  Bridge;  and  if  Mr.  Lind- 
say was  anywhere  visible,  tbey  would  give  the  reins  to  the  groom, 
and  would  come  and  form  a  semicircle  round  the  artist  and  bis 
easel,  devoting  themselves  chiefly  to  compliment,  but  sometimes 
venturing  to  ask  how  this  or  that  was  done.  Lindsay  was  in  no- 
wise disconcerted  by  the  presence  of  these  friendly  critics;  he 
was  too  well  used  to  the  bovine  gaze  of  gaping  rustics ;  but  be  had 
to  inform  them  that  his  studies  were  mostly  memoranda  for  his 
own  subsequent  use,  and  not  at  all  fitted  to  be  set  up  asexemj)Iars 
for  innocent  and  aspiring  minds.  For  the  rest,  he  might  have 
dined  every  night  in  the  week  at  Beaver  Court ;  and  once  or  twice 
lie  did  go  over,  begging  to  be  excused  for  his  morning  dress ;  but, 
for  the  most  {)art,  he  liked  to  be  alone  with  his  sketches  in  the 
evenings,  for  there  was  a  good  deal  of  consideration  to  be  done 
in-doors. 

However,  a  landscape-painter,  no  matter  how  busy  ho  may  be, 
lias  always  plenty  of  time  for  thinking  over  things;  and  Lindsay, 
sitting  at  his  easel  on  those  chill  January  mornings,  began  to 
wonder  whether  he  had  ever  really  understood  Sabina.  Perhaps 
the  glamour  of  her  appearance,  her  actual  physical  beauty,  had 
15 


338  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

blinded  lilin  ?  If  he  had  been  asked  to  name  what  he  considered 
her  most  marked  characteristic,  he  would  have  said  an  extraordi- 
nary frank  and  ready  generosity  of  disposition.  But  this  Sabina 
■was  cold,  reticent,  distrustful,  embarrassed,  and  at  times  betraying 
more  than  a  trace  of  nervous  anxiety.  Was  it,  then,  that  all 
women  were  a  mystery — inconsistent,  perverse,  whimsical,  unsta- 
ble as  water?  The  second  time  that  he  went  over  to  Beaver 
Court,  he  went  with  a  definite  purpose.  "  I  am  going  to  try  to 
find  out  what  women  really  are,"  he  said  to  himself.  But  those 
four  light-hearted,  merry,  wholesome -cheeked  English  girls  did 
not  appear  to  invite  psychological  study.  Probably  they  would 
have  called  it  "stuff."  They  were  very  kind  to  him  ;  they  played 
and  sang  for  him  ;  he  played  and  sang  for  them ;  and  with  the 
assistance  of  two  brothers  home  from  school,  they  had  a  little 
romp  of  "  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley."  One  of  the  girls,  indeed,  was 
a  tiny  and  winsome  wench  of  seventeen  or  eigliteen,  with  soft, 
kittenish  ways,  and  large,  appealing  eyes.  He  suspected  that 
those  eyes  knew  a  trifle  more  than  they  pretended  to  know ;  and 
that  the  owner  of  them,  in  a  quiet  corner,  might  reveal  afar  from 
slight  acquaintance  with  the  fine  art  of  flirtation.  But  what  of 
that?  They  were  all  of  them  as  school-children  to  him.  They 
did  not  interest  him.  They  were  merry,  and  very  good-natured, 
and  frank;  and  they  plagued  his  life  out  to  come  to  some  ap- 
proaching ball ;  and  they  trooped  down  into  the  study,  and  re- 
mained there  talking  and  laughing  and  teasing,  while  he  had  a 
final  cigar  with  Sir  Tyrrell.  Indeed,  they  were  in  every  way 
most  kind  and  friendly  towards  him.  But  they  could  not  tell 
him  anything  about  Sabina,  who  seemed  to  belong  to  a  different 
world. 

On  his  rare  visits  to  London  he  was  in  the  habit  of  making 
Witstead  his  station,  just  in  case  he  might  casually  meet  her  in 
going  or  coming.  And  at  last  that  happened.  He  had  spent  the 
night  in  town,  and  was  returning  to  his  work  on  the  following 
morning.  He  had  passed  through  the  little  village  without  see- 
ing any  sign  of  her;  and  was  walking  briskly  on,  trying  to  for- 
get the  renewed  disappointment,  when,  at  some  considerable  dis- 
tance ahead  of  him,  he  suddenly  caught  sight  of  her.  He  recog- 
nized the  tall  and  graceful  figure  at  a  glance;  all  the  more  that 
her  arm  was  uplifted  and  her  head  thrown  back,  for  apparently 
she  was  e-atherino;  somethino;  from  a  hiiih  hedge  that  ended  a 


NEIGHBORS.  339 

coppice  coming  right  up  to  the  road.  On  the  pathway  was  a 
perambulator ;  but  the  small  Harry  was  by  her  side,  kneeling  at 
the  hedge  roots,  and  no  doubt  imitating  his  mother's  occupation. 
As  he  drew  nearer,  he  heard  that  she  was  singing  to  the  child ; 
nearer  still,  and  he  could  make  out  the  old  familiar  air;  but  it 
was  very  lightly  and  cheerfully  that  she  made  her  complaint — 

"  The  wild  wind  is  ravin', 
Th}-  Minnie's  heart's  sair; 
The  wild  wind  is  ravin', 
And  ye  diuna  care" — 

if  that  was  what  she  was  saying  to  him.  AVhen  Lindsay  bad  got 
quite  close  to  her,  she  did  not  turn  to  see  who  this  was;  she 
merely  ceased  her  singing  until  the  stranger  should  go  by ;  and 
then  she  continued  her  efforts  to  get  at  certain  feathery  sprays 
of  the  wild  clematis  that  were  just  beyond  her  reach. 

"  Let  me  get  them  for  you,''  be  said. 

She  turned  quickly ;  was  it  ever  to  be  his  fate  to  startle  her  on 
their  meeting? 

"Ob,  how  do  you,  Mr.  Lindsay?  No,  thank  you.  I  think  I 
can  manage." 

Of  course  he  saw  that  she  could  not  manage,  and  without  fur- 
ther parleying  he  pulled  down  the  slender  branches  for  her,  and 
she  took  what  she  wanted.  Then  they  spoke  a  little  about  the 
weather,  and  the  hardships  of  the  poor.  Then  she  asked  him 
how  he  was  getting  along  at  Burford  Bridge. 

"Isn't  it  rather  unusual  for  an  artist  to  be  painting  out-of- 
doors  in  weather  like  this?" 

"That  makes  it  all  the  better  worth  doing.". 

"Don't  your  fingers  get  benumbed?'' 

"Sometimes  I  have  to  give  up,  and  stamp  about.  But  I  can 
bear  cold  pretty  well." 

"Arc  you  going  to  take  the  drawings  to  America  when  you 
have  finished  them  ail  ?" 

"No;   I  think  I  shall  exhibit  them  in  London." 

"  I  was  told  you  made  a  great  reputation  in  Anu'rica." 

"They  were  very  kind  to  me  over  there.  And  of  course  an 
artist's  work  has  to  be  shown  before  they  can  know  anything 
about  him.  One  copy  of  n  book  is  just  as  good  as  another;  but 
the  painter  has  to  siiow  his  own  original  work." 


340  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

*'  And  you  are  not  going  back  to  America  ?"  she  said,  rather 
absently. 

"  No,  I  think  not — not  at  present — I  have  not  even  thought  of 
it." 

By  this  time  she  had  put  the  bits  of  holly,  and  the  red  berries, 
and  the  sprays  of  old-man's-beard  into  the  perambulator. 

"  Come  along,  Harry,"  she  said.  "  You  will  have  to  walk  all 
the  way  back,  you  see.     Good-morning,  Mr.  Lindsay  !" 

So  she  left  him  ;  and  he  walked  on,  leaden  hearted  enough.  He 
wished  he  had  not  seen  her.  Perhaps  he  ought  to  try  to  see  her 
no  more.  Surely  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  light  his  pipe  in 
front  of  the  fire  of  an  evening,  and  conjure  up  the  beautiful, 
bland-eyed  Sabina  that  he  used  to  know,  who  was  so  frankly  gen- 
erous in  her  friendliness  towards  himself,  who  was  the  bepetted 
and  bepraised  and  beloved  of  all  who  knew  her.  This  coldly  reti- 
cent woman  here  bore  herself  with  an  absolutely  defiant  ostenta- 
tion of  indifference.  She  seemed  to  wonder  that  he  did  not  re- 
turn to  America.  Was  she  anxious  that  he  should  return  ?  No; 
she  was  too  indifferent  to  be  anxious. 

But  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room  that  night,  or  stood 
before  the  fire  and  roused  the  blazing  roots  with  his  heel,  he  fell 
to  having  juster  and  gentler  thoughts  of  Sabina. 

"  There  is  something  that  I  don't  understand,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  There  must  be  some  explanation  of  such  an  extraordinary 
change  of  manner;  and  until  I  discover  what  it  is,  I  am  not  going 
to  quarrel  with  her.  Nor  will  I  allow  her  to  quarrel  with  me.  I 
have  given  her  no  cause  of  offence  that  I  can  think  of.  What- 
ever comes  of  it,  I  must  see  her,  and  insist  on  her  speaking  out, 
clear  and  plain.  She  used  to  be  able  to  do  that  in  those  former 
days,  without  any  pleading  at  all." 

He  thought  over  the  matter  for  two  or  three  days  ;  and  then 
one  morning,  when  he  rose  to  find  a  chill  east  wind  (that  pest  of 
the  landscape-painter),  filling  heaven  and  earth  with  a  barely  per- 
ceptible but  perfectly  hopeless  mist,  he  thought  he  might  as  well 
walk  over  to  Witstead  and  have  this  matter  out  with  Sabina.  He 
arrived  there  about  eleven  o'clock.  The  small  maid-servant  who 
opened  the  door  looked  frightened. 

"  Yes,  sir,  missis  is  at  home,  but  you  can't  see  her.  There's  ill- 
ness in  the  house." 

"  Who  is  ill «"  he  said,  quickly. 


NEIGHBORS.  341 

"  The  little  boy,  sir.     And  it's  fever — scarlet-fever." 

She  made  bold  to  appeal  to  Lim  about  her  own  trouble. 

"  And  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  leave,  sir,"  the  girl  said,  looking 
up  to  him  with  timid  e)'es, 

"  Why  should  you  leave?" 

"  Mother  wants  me  to.     Mother's  afraid." 

"  Wliy,  you  are  not  going  to  play  the  coward  at  such  a 
time?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  go — missis  has  been  so  good  to  me. 
This  is  my  fourth  place,  but  I've  never  had  a  missis  like  her  be- 
fore." 

"  Well,  I  am  going  up-stairs  to  see  her — " 

"  Oh,  if  you  please  not,  sir — it's  dreadfully  infectious — I  was  not 
to  allow  any  one  to  go  up,"  the  little  maid  protested. 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  he  said,  quite  gently,  to  her.  "Don't  you  be 
so  frightened  as  that.  I  am  going  up  to  tell  your  mistress  that 
yon  couldn't  think  of  leaving." 

He  went  up-stairs.  The  carpet  had  been  stripped  from  the 
landing ;  his  foot-fall  sounded  sharp.  From  the  top  of  one  of  the 
doors  there  were  suspended  heavy  folds  of  calico  soaked  in  carbol- 
ic-acid ;  he  guessed  that  that  was  the  room,  and,  removing  the 
curtain  an  inch  or  two,  he  knocked  lightly.  In  a  minute  or  so  Sa- 
bina  appeared. 

She  did  not  seem  so  agitated  as  he  had  expected ;  perhaps  it 
was  the  sense  of  danger  that  had  strung  her  nerves.  Nor  did  she 
seem  surprised  at  finding  him  there;  while  he,  on  his  part,  did  not 
stay  to  make  any  apology  for  his  intrusion. 

"This  is  a  very  bad  business,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  it  will  turn 
out  to  be  a  mild  form  of  the  fever." 

"The  doctor  seems  to  think  that  likely,"  she  said,  with  appar- 
ent calmness.  "There  have  been  two  or  three  cases  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  none  of  them  of  the  most  serious  kind." 

"  Oh,  then  you  may  fairly  hope  for  the  best,"  he  said.  "  But 
it  will  be  a  terrible  imprisonment  for  you." 

"I  shall  not  grudge  it.  My  boy  will  have  a  faithful  nurse,  I 
think.  And  very  glad  I  am  now  that  I  served  six  months  in  the 
hospital ;  I  should  be  terrified  if  I  did  not  know  exactly  what  to 
do;  I  should  be  afraid  of  making  some  dreadful  mistake." 

"  I  wish  you  could  suggest  some  way  in  wliicli  I  could  be  of 
assistance  to  you,"  he  said. 


342  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"  Would  you  mind  sending  a  note  to  Janie,  and  explaining  to 
her  why  I  cannot  write  to  her  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  very  eagerly — and  very  much  rejoiced  to 
have  Sabina  talking  to  him  in  this  simple,  frank,  direct  way.  "  I 
will  do  so  at  once.  But  I  mean  that  you  must  promise  to  consid- 
er me  entirely  at  your  service — at  any  hour — for  any  length  of 
time—" 

"Thank  you,  I  think  we  shall  do  very  well,"  Sabina  said ;  but 
then  she  added,  "  unless  the  little  girl  Elizabeth  were  to  leave. 
Then — I — should  be  rather  helpless." 

Even  in  the  dusk  behind  those  heavy  folds  he  could  see  the 
quick  nervous  tremor  that  passed  across  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  said,  cheerfully  ;  "  that's  all  right. 
You  needn't  bother  about  that.  The  little  girl  isn't  going  to  leave; 
but  if  she  wishes  to  leave,  there's  no  harm  done.  You  see,  I  am 
on  my  way  to  London  just  now  ;  and  in  the  afternoon  I  am  go- 
ing to  bring  my  house-keeper  down.  She  will  be  no  inconvenience 
to  you — she  will  get  a  bed  over  the  way  at  the  Checkers.  Then 
in  the  daytime  she  will  come  over  here  and  look  after  things ;  or 
if  the  girl  chooses  to  go,  then  she  will  step  into  her  place.  It  is 
the  simplest  matter  in  the  world." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  Sabina  said,  in  rather  a  low  voice. 

"Then  as  to  yourself.  Of  course  you  cannot  be  the  sole  nurse 
— unless  you  want  to  knock  yourself  up  at  the  very  outset.  As 
soon  as  I  get  up  to  London  I  will  go  to  one  of  those  institutions 
and  send  down  a  trained  nurse.  I  dare  say  she  might  be  down 
to-night." 

"Oh  no,  pray  don't !"  she  said.  "  Indeed,  I  can  do  the  nursing 
myself — " 

"Day  and  night? — why,  it  is  impossible!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  have  a  great  deal  of  endurance.  And  then  the  expense  of 
having  one  of  those  trained  nurses,  perhaps  for  a  long  time,  would 
be  so  great — really,  I  can  get  on  by  myself." 

He  had  foreseen  this  question  of  expenditure. 

"  As  to  the  cost  of  having  a  trained  nurse  down,  or  any  other 
cost  that  may  be  necessary,  you  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  that. 
That  is  my  affair — " 

"  Mr.  Lindsay — "  she  was  going  to  protest ;  but  he  stopped  her 
with  a  gentleness  that  was  firm  as  well. 

"  Do  you  think  you  have  any  right  to  utter  a  word  of  objec- 


NEIGHBORS.  343 

tion  ?  You  have  no  right.  The  care  you  have  for  your  child 
must  keep  you  silent.  Besides,  I  claim  the  privilege  from  our  old 
standing  friendship.  You  have  not  been  so  friendly  with  me  of 
late — I  do  not  know  why.  I  came  over  this  morning  to  ask;  I 
thought  if  there  was  a  misunderstanding  it  might  be  removed. 
But  all  that  is  nothing  now.  It  does  not  need  to  be  spoken  of. 
No  ;  I  claim  from  past  days  the  right  to  act  as  your  friend  ;  and 
you  will  not  object  to  anything  I  do — you  cannot  object  if  you 
think  why  it  is  done." 

Her  eyelids  had  been  growing  moist;  two  great  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks.     She  quickly  brushed  them  aside, 

"  How  many  rooms  have  yon  in  there — one  or  two  ?"  he  asked. 

She  could  not  answer  for  a  moment ;  then  she  said, 

"  One  room,  and  a  dressing-room.  It  is  verv  convenient.  I 
can  shut  the  door  behind  me  when  I  come  out  like  this." 

"  Then  the  dressing-room  will  do  for  the  nurse.  Well,  I  must 
be  off  now  ;  I  will  see  you  again  in  the  evening.  And  don't  you 
think  of  making  one  word  more  of  protest;  and  don't  have  any 
anxiety — tlie  house  will  be  managed  for  you  all  right.  There's 
another  thing;  mind  you  keep  yourself  up;  eat  and  drink  well, 
for  that  is  the  best  safeguard  against  catching  infection.  And 
fancy  what  the  outlook  for  your  little  boy  would  be  if  you  fell  ill 
yourself.     Well,  good-by  just  now  !" 

She  called  him  back,  and  lie  pretended  not  to  see  that  she  was 
struggling  with  an  emotion  which  she  could  not  conceal. 

"I — I  must  not  offer  you  my  hand,"  she  said,  in  rather  a  shaky 
voice, "  and — and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  thank  you;  but  some 
day  I  will — " 

"Oh,  it  is  nothing;  we  are  neighbors,  you  know,"  he  said, 
lightly,  and  away  he  went. 

He  strode  rapidly  off  to  the  railway-.station,  armed  with  the.so 
self-imposed  duties,  and  glad  enough  to  be  able  to  do  so  n)iicli  for 
Sabina.  Nay,  he  would  have  gone  rej(ucing  "as  a  strong  man  to 
run  a  race"  but  for  recurring  thoughts  of  the  sick  little  lad  lying 
in  tli.'it  lonely  chamber;  well,  what  could  be  done  for  him  should. 

Arrived  in  London,  he  forthwith  arrar)ged  about  the  trained 
nurse  being  sent  down  that  evening;  then  he  <lrovc  out  to  Notting 
Hill  and  told  his  house-keeper  what  he  wanted  of  lier,  and  gave 
her  all  the  necessary  instructions;  and  then  he  went  along  to 
Janie's  with  liis  brief  and  troubled  story. 


344  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"  And  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  good  turn,"  he  said  to  her.  "  I 
think  you  told  me  that  Sabina  took  no  wine — for  economy's  sake, 
I  suppose.  Now  she  must.  But  she  won't  take  it  if  it  isn't 
there  ;  I  mean  she  won't  send  for  it.  Well,  I  have  a  hansom  out- 
side ;  will  you  drive  along  with  me  to  my  wine-merchant's,  and 
yourself  order  some  wines,  and  give  her  address,  and  write  a  note 
in  the  office  telling  her  that  they  are  a  New-year's  present,  or  some- 
thing of  the  sort,  and  insisting  on  her  using  the  wine,  if  she  means 
to  keep  well  during  this  trouble?  Of  course  it  will  go  down  to 
ray  account." 

"To  your  account?  But  what  would  Phil  say  if  he  heard  of 
such  a  thing  ?"  Janie  exclaimed. 

"  He  need  not  hear  of  such  a  thing,"  said  the  tempter. 

"Oh  yes,  I  should  have  to  tell  him,"  the  honest  Janie  rejoined. 
"However,  Sabie  must  not  be  allowed  to  suffer.  I  will  tell  you 
■what  I  will  do.  I  will  go  along  and  order  the  wine,  and  send  it 
to  her  and  write  to  her,  and  then  you  and  Phil  can  fight  as  to  who 
is  to  pay  for  it." 

"  Excellent,  most  excellent !  Come  along  !"  he  said  at  once. 
And  they  went  out,  and  he  put  her  into  the  hansom  and  drove  off 
towards  Piccadilly. 

In  the  wine-merchant's  office  Janie's  choosing  was  pretty  much 
of  a  farce  ;  and  at  last  she  protested. 

"  Mr.  Lindsay,  if  you  order  such  expensive  wines,  Sabie  will 
know  quite  well  that  it  wasn't  I  who  sent  them." 

"How  will  she  know?  By  the  quality  of  them?  Not  likely; 
she  is  a  woman." 

"  Then  if  she  doesn't  know  the  quality,  why  send  her  such 
■wines  V  Janie  asked. 

"  Because  I  don't  want  her  poisoned." 

This  business  over,  he  got  a  four-wheeler  to  convey  Janie  home, 
reserving  the  hansom  to  take  him  down  to  Victoria, 

"  Remember,"  he  said,  "  that  though  she  may  not  write  to  you, 
you  may  write  as  much  as  you  like  to  her.  And  you  may  send 
her  magazines  and  illustrated  things,  and  so  forth,  if  you  have 
them  to  spare;  but  I  will  take  care  that  she  has  plenty  of  these." 

"  If  Sabie  only  knew,"  said  Janie,  looking  at  him  with  kind 
eyes,  "  she  has  one  good  friend." 

"Only  one?"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "  I  thought  yon  had  a  lit- 
tle liking  for  her.     Well,  never  mind.     By-the-way,  if  you  do  go 


IN   TIME    OF   NEED.  345 

and  tell  this  story  about  the  wine  to  Master  Phil,  just  ask  him  to 
mind  his  own  business.     I  won't  be  interfered  with.     Good-by  !" 

"  Good-by  !  Give  my  love  to  Sabie,  and  say  I  shall  be  down 
to  see  her  in  a  day  or  two." 

So  she  drove  away  ;  and  he  made  forthwith  for  Victoria  Sta- 
tion, not  ill-satisfied  so  far  with  his  day's  work. 


CHAPTER  XL. 
IN   TIME  OF   NEED. 


All  was  going  well ;  and  it  was  with  a  cheerful  equanimity  he 
set  about  making  matters  as  easy  as  might  be  for  the  anxious 
mother.  From  the  very  outset  he  had  presumed  to  exercise  a 
certain  authority  over  her;  he  found  he  could  get  along  better 
that  way  ;  he  did  as  he  chose,  without  waiting  for  her  permission. 
One  afternoon  she  said  to  him, 

"  Mr.  Lindsay,  do  you  think  you  could  get  a  man  from  the 
village — I  mean,  do  you  think  it  would  be  fair  to  ask  any  one  to 
come  into  the  room  ?" 

"  To  do  what  ?"  he  said. 

"I  can't  help  thinking  that  one  of  the  windows  is  not  quite 
close  up  at  the  top,  and  I  am  afraid  of  the  smallest  draught.  Both 
the  nurse  and  I  have  tried  to  move  the  top  sasii,  but  we  can't. 
Would  it  be  fair  to  ask  a  man  from  the  village  to  try  ?" 

For  answer  he  pushed  aside  the  heavy  and  saturated  curtains, 
and  went  by  her  into  the  sick-room. 

"Which  one  is  it?"  he  asked. 

She  protested  ;  but  he  took  no  heed  of  her  protest. 

"I  am  not  going  anywhere  where  there  are  children,"  he  said, 
briefly. 

"But  yourself?" 

"  I  am  not  much  afraid  of  that.      Which  sash  is  it?" 

She  showed  him  ;  and  with  little  trouble  the  window  was  se- 
curely jammed  up  and  fastened. 

Then  he  had  to  dismiss  the  small  servant-maid  Elizabeth.     Ilcr 

mother  came  bothering  about  tiie  place,  with  idiotic  precautions 

and  whining  fears;  at  last  he  told  her  to  take  her  daughter  away 

with  her.     Then  he  installed   his  own  house-keeper,  who  forth- 

15* 


346  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

with  got  down  from  London  a  relative  of  hers  to  help  her  with 
the  cooking.  These  dispositions  being  made,  there  remained  for 
him  only  to  cudgel  his  brains  as  to  what  he  could  send  for  to 
solace  Sabina's  imprisonment — books,  magazines,  reading-lamps, 
fruit,  flowers,  big  flasks  of  eau-de-cologne — everything  he  could 
think  of,  and  everything  of  the  best.  He  had  no  need  to  fear 
the  ingratitude  shown  by  the  Lady  Greensleeves  to  her  lover. 
He  asked  only  for  friendship;  and  he  got  it.  When  a  summons 
brought  Sabina  to  the  door,  and  when  she  pulled  aside  the  cur- 
tains a  little  way,  her  face  would  light  up  when  she  found  that  it 
was  he  who  was  on  the  landing.  The  embarrassed  reticence  that 
had  puzzled  him  so  much  was  almost  entirely  gone.  She  was 
glad  to  see  him  ;  she  was  very  grateful  for  all  he  was  doing  for 
her;  and  she  strove  to  show  her  sense  of  his  kindness  in  her  man- 
ner towards  him.  Nor  was  he  ill  to  please — when  it  was  Sabina 
who  stood  before  him,  talking  to  him,  her  eyes  gentle  and  well- 
wishing  as  in  the  olden  days. 

The  way  of  his  life  at  this  time  was  as  follows :  all  the  morn- 
ing and  mid-day  he  was  at  work  at  Burford  Bridge.  Then,  as 
the  dusk  of  the  afternoon  came  on,  he  would  take  the  train  to 
"VVitstead,  and  walk  to  Wayside  Cottage,  where  he  had  to  hear 
reports,  open  parcels,  and  the  like.  His  recompense  for  that 
trouble  was  a  protracted  chat  with  Sabina,  she  standing  half  hid- 
den by  the  curtains,  he  leaning  against  the  balustrade  at  the  top 
of  the  stair.  Thereafter  he  would  set  out  for  Burford  Bridge  by 
road.  For  about  this  time  in  the  evenings  there  was  now  shin- 
ing in  the  southern  heavens  a  crescent  moon,  dally  gaining  in  size 
and  brilliancy,  and  over  that  there  was  a  large  silver-clear  planet 
— a  celestial  cup  and  ball,  as  it  were — and  he  was  contemplating 
a  series  of  drawings  of  moonlit  skies.  He  had  tried  one  before; 
his  method  being  to  have  all  his  materials  ready  within-doors ; 
then  to  go  out  and  get  as  accurate  a  mental  recofti  of  appearances 
as  he  could  obtain ;  and  then  to  go  quickly  in  and  place  these 
impressions,  as  nearly  as  he  could,  on  paper.  The  critics  were 
facetious,  of  course ;  some  of  them  indignant.  They  declared 
that  he  made  the  moon  ridiculously  small ;  that  he  nmst  have 
been  looking  at  it  through  the  wrong  end  of  a  telescope.  They 
asked  him  where  he  found  the  little  touches  of  yellow  round  the 
edges  of  the  silver-gray  clouds.  They  disputed  the  rainbow  hues 
of  his   lunar  halo.      They  suggested   color-blindness   when   he 


I>"    TIME    OF    NEED.  347 

painted  a  highway,  on  a  night  of  full-moon,  of  a  purple  graj'  with 
a  faint  russet  hue  interfused.  But  he  did  not  pay  much  heed  to 
these  amateur  observers,  or  non  -  observers.  He  was  too  much 
concerned  about  getting  his  work  done;  and  he  cljose  to  do  that 
in  his  own  way.  They  might  call  him  perverse,  pig-headed,  ob- 
tuse;  they  might  call  his  drawings  capricious,  whimsical,  meretri- 
cious; somehow  he  did  not  mind.  If  they  did  not  like  his  draw- 
ings, they  could  leave  them ;  they  were  not  bound  to  buy  them 
unless  they  wished.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  did  not  buy 
them;  but  the  public  did,  and  many  of  his  fellow -artists  did. 
Now  when  one  painter  goes  the  length  of  buying  another  painter's 
work — of  actually  buying  it — that  is  the  extremest  form  of  praise. 

The  fever  declaring  itself  to  be  of  a  mild  form,  and  all  things 
going  on  favorably,  those  little  conversations  between  Sabina  and 
Walter  Lindsay  were  of  a  quite  cheerful  cast;  and  she  had  be- 
come very  frank  with  him — except  now  and  again,  when  she 
seemed  to  recollect  herself,  and  to  throw  a  reserve  over  her  man- 
ner in  a  way  that  puzzled  him.  Ordinarily,  however,  she  was 
most  friendly,  and  showed  no  hesitation  about  asking  him  to  do 
anything  for  her ;  once,  indeed,  she  was  nearly  going  beyond  the 
bounds  of  discretion. 

"  Mr.  Lindsay,"  she  said,  recalling  him  as  he  was  about  to 
leave,  "  I  forgot  something.  1  li;id  a  letter  from  my  father  this 
morning.  Would  you  mind  sending  him  a  note  saying  why  it  is 
I  cannot  answer  it  ?" 

"  Won't  that  look  rather  odd  f '  he  said.  "  I  don't  suppose  Sir 
Anthony  ever  heard  of  me." 

"  Never  heard  of  you?  Why,  he  has  two  of  your  landscapes  in 
the  drawing-room." 

"  And  who  advised  him  to  buy  them  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  vague 
hope. 

"I  wisli  I  could  say  I  did,"  she  answered,  honestly,  "  but  it 
was  Lady  Zembra  did.  And  I  am  certain  both  of  them  know 
that  you  know  me." 

"  1  am  afraid  Sir  Anthony  would  be  a  little  surprised  to  get 
such  a  note  from  me — " 

"Oh,  never  mind  then,"  she  said,  promptly  ;  "  Janic  is  coming 
down  to-morrow — she  will  write  for  mc." 

And  yet  he  did  not  refuse  to  do  Sabina  a  service. 

"If  you  wish,  I  will  send  him  word — as  from  an  outsider — 


348  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

that  the  little  boy  is  ill,  and  then  he  will  come  down  and  see  you 
himself." 

"  Papa  come  down  here — to  a  house  where  there  is  fever  ?"  she 
said,  with  a  smile.  "It's  little  you  know  him.  He  would  think 
you  had  gone  mad  if  you  suggested  such  a  thing.  He  would  tell 
you  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  more  wicked  and  foolish 
than  running  unnecessary  risks.  Why,  it  was  his  fear  of  infection 
that  made  him  turn  me  out  of  the  house.  And  if  he  were  to 
come  down,  I  know  how  I  should  be  lectured.  Oh,  shouldn't  I 
catch  it !  'I  told  you  so,  I  warned  you  what  would  liappen  if 
you  wouldn't  give  up  going  to  those  slums.  Here  is  your  own 
child  ill  now  !'  " 

"But  there  are  no  slums  in  Witstead?" 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter,"  Sabina  said,  cheerfully.  "  It  would 
be  enough  that  I  used  to  visit  slums  years  ago.  However,  I 
think  you  are  right ;  probably  papa  would  be  surprised.  Janie 
will  write  when  she  comes  to-morrow.  And  in  the  mean  time  I 
must  consider  how  I  am  to  thank  her  for  sending  me  all  that 
wine." 

"  That  is  a  simple  matter,  at  all  events." 

"  How  ?" 

"You  have  only  to  tell  her  that  you  have  been  using  some  of 
it.  Do  you  know,"  he  continued — for  it  was  most  astonishing 
how,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  he  would  keep  lingering  on  that 
dusky  landing,  while  the  beautiful  silver  crescent  of  the  moon,  far 
away  in  the  southern  skies,  was  shining  for  him  in  vain,  and 
slowly  sailing  onward  to  the  west — "that  I  can  never  quite  make 
out  why  it  is  that  Janie  is  so  impressive  a  person  ?  When  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  there  is  nothing  about  her  of  the  kind  that 
ordinarily  impresses  people.  She  is  not  beautiful — the  honest 
truth  is  that  she  is  rather  plain;  she  hasn't  a  grand  manner;  she 
is  neither  brilliant,  nor  sarcastic,  nor  audacious,  in  any  way  what- 
ever; she  has  but  little  in  the  way  of  flocks  and  herds — and  her 
jewels  would  be  despised  by  a  grocer's  wife.  She  ought  to  be  an 
insignificant  kind  of  creature — one  you  would  pass  by  without 
notice  and  forget.  But  she  isn't  anything  of  the  kind  to  those 
who  know  her.  She  is  a  very  decided  personality.  There  is 
some  curious  distinction  about  her  that  I  can't  quite  make  out — 
you  say  to  yourself,  well,  this  plain  little  woman  has  something 
about  her  that  one  is  forced  to  admire,  and  almost  to  reverence. 


IN    TIME    OF    NEED.  349 

She  is  not  like  every  one  else;  there  is  a  certain  distinction  and 
nobility  about  her  somehow — Spenser's  '  Regard  of  Honor  and 
Mild  Modesty'  sometimes  occurs  to  me — but,  whatever  it  is,  I 
know  that  in  my  little  world  Janie  is  a  very  distinct  and  im- 
portant personality." 

"  But  isn't  it  simple  enough  ?"  Sabina  said,  in  her  bland  way. 
"Every  one  can  see  that  Janie  is  a  true,  honest,  unselfish,  warm- 
hearted woman.     What  more  ?" 

"  Oh,  but  you  can  say  that  about  lots  of  women,"  he  answered, 
in  a  dissatisfied  kind  of  way,  "  who  have  hardly  any  distinctive 
character  at  all — who  don't  interest  you,  in  short.  No ;  there  is 
something  about  Janie  that  belongs  definitely  to  herself." 

"  At  all  events,"  said  Sabina,  with  a  smile,  "  it  has  not  caused 
you  to  fall  out.     You  are  still  friends,  I  hope?" 

Shortly  after  that  he  was  leisurely  making  his  way  south,  under 
the  clear,  dark  skies,  along  a  hard  and  ghostly  gray  highway,  and 
through  an  almost  silent  land.  He  was  absently  thinking  of 
many  things,  and  not  at  all  paying  the  attention  that  was  due  to 
the  soft  violet  hues  of  the  southern  heavens,  and  to  the  crescent 
moon  that  seemed  to  have  a  touch  of  gold  over  its  silver  clear- 
ness. And  if  that  riddle  about  Janie's  distinctive  character  was 
still  present  to  him,  any  third  person  could  have  answered  it  for 
him  in  a  moment.  Janie  had  many  excellent  qualities,  no  doubt; 
but  that  which  obviously  gave  her  value  and  importance  and 
dignity  in  his  eyes — that  which  made  her  lovable  in  a  kind  of 
way — 'was  her  devoted  and  loyal  and  unwavering  affection  for 
Sabina.  He  forgot  that  Janie  was  rather  plain-featured  when  he 
saw  her  eyes  grow  kind  at  the  very  mention  of  Sabina's  name. 

Janie  came  down  the  next  day,  and  was  mightily  astonished  to 
find  Walter  Lindsay's  house- keeper  in  charge,  for  slie  had  not 
heard  of  the  most  recent  arrangements.  Then  she  went  up-stairs 
— a  little  tremulous,  perhaps — not  knowing  how  Sabina  was  bear- 
ing her  trouble.  But  the  first  glance  she  got  of  her  friend  reas- 
sured her. 

"Sometimes,"  Sabina  said,  when  the  first  inquiries  were  over 
— "sometimes  1  almost  think  it  is  like  playing  at  having  illness 
in  the  house,  everything  is  made  so  easy  and  {)lt'asa!it  for  us.  It 
is  not  like  a  sick-room  at  all.     If  I  could  only  show  you — " 

"  Why  not?"  Janie  said,  and  she  made  a  step  forward. 

Sabina  lield  up  her  hand. 


350  SABINA    ZEMBRA, 

"  No,  I  will  not  allow  it.  It  is  not  fair  to  other  people.  Mr. 
Lindsay  did  come  in — to  shut  a  window  for  us;  but  that  was 
none  of  my  doing ;  he  did  not  wait  for  permission.  But,  really, 
if  you  saw  how  luxurious  we  are,  Janie — the  stoves  we  have,  and 
screens,  and  reading-lamps,  and  toys  lying  about  the  bed,  and  lit- 
tle baskets  of  flowers  above  the  mantle-piece — you  would  say  that 
it  was  nursing  made  easy,  Mr.  Lindsay  seems  to  think  that  I  am 
greatly  to  be  pitied  because  I  shall  be  shut  up  in  these  two  little 
rooms  for  some  weeks  to  come.  It's  little  he  knows  what  some 
people  have  to  suffer  when  sickness  comes  into  their  poor  home. 
But  you  and  I  know,  Janie." 

"Are  you  quarrelling  with  him  because  he  is  sorry  for  you?" 
Janie  asked,  reproachfnll}'. 

"Quarrelling?  No.  That  is  not  likely.  His  kindness  and 
thoughtfulness  have  just  been  beyond  everything.  Why,  I  cannot 
imagine  how  he  came  to  think  of  so  many  things — what  experi- 
ence can  he  have  had  of  what  is  serviceable  in  a  sick-room  ?  Well, 
no  matter ;  all  I  know  is  that  I  shall  never  forget  his  goodness  to 
me — never,  never,  never." 

"  That  is  spoken  more  like  yourself,  Sabie,"  her  friend  said ; 
and  then  she  added,  insidiously,  "  I  suppose  he  comes  over  from 
Burford  Bridge  now  and  again  ?" 

"Every  afternoon  almost,  when  his  work  is  finished.  He  was 
here  yesterday,  and  was  speaking  about  you,  by-the-way.  He  said 
some  very  pretty  things  about  you." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  care  who  knows  what  my  opinion  of  him  is," 
Janie  made  answer,  boldly. 

"Of  course  you  don't.  The  two  of  you  make  a  very  excellent 
Society  for  Mutual  Admiration." 

"  Yes— of  you." 

The  remark  was  a  quite  innocent  and  unpremeditated  one ;  but 
it  seemed  to  startle  Sabina  somewhat.  She  instantly  changed  the 
subject. 

"  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me,  Janie.  There  are  one 
or  two  notes  I  must  send ;  will  you  write  them  ?  Mrs.  Reid 
will  bring  up  a  small  table  and  a  chair,  if  you  ask  her,  and  the 
writing  materials.  And  the  note  that  goes  to  papa  must  be 
sprinkled  with  carbolic-acid,  or  he  will  be  frightened  out  of  his 
wits." 

So  Janie  set  about  her  duties  as  amanuensis,  and  had  no  time 


ITSr   TIME    OF    NEED.  351 

to  consider  further  why  it  was  that  Sabina  had  been  so  quickly 
startled  by  an  innocent  mention  of  Walter  Lindsay's  obvious  ad- 
miration for  her. 

But  if,  during  this  first  fortnight,  all  seemed  going  well — if  it 
almost  "  looked  like  playing  at  having  illness" — a  time  came  when 
that  cheerful  optimism  was  asked  to  pause  and  consider.  Some- 
how the  little  boy  did  not  recover  his  strength  as  he  ought  to 
have  done.  The  fever  had  run  its  course,  apparently,  in  the  most 
satisfactory  way  ;  and  the  doctor  had  not  discovered  symptoms  of 
any  of  the  sequelce  that  frequently  follow  this  dangerous  disease ; 
but  all  the  same,  the  child,  instead  of  going  forward  to  perfect 
health,  seemed  to  linger.  Sabina  perceived  this  less  than  did  the 
doctor  and  the  nurse,  or  perhaps  she  shut  her  eyes  to  it;  if  any 
terrible  doubts  hammered  for  entrance  into  her  mind,  she  held 
that  closed  against  them,  and  barricaded  herself  along  with  her 
dearest  hopes. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  one  afternoon,  to  Walter  Lindsay,  "  I 
am  not  in  the  least  anxious  to  have  the  boy  getting  about  soon. 
Oh,  no;  not  in  the  least.  Of  course,  the  risk  of  a  chill  must  be  so 
much  greater  in  this  cold  weather.  I  have  always  thought  that 
the  hospitals  shouldn't  keep  to  their  rule  of  sending  scarlatina 
patients  out  at  the  end  of  five  or  six  weeks,  when  the  weather  is 
bitterly  cold,  or  when  the  patient  has  a  delicate  constitution.  Oh 
no,  I  should  not  be  disappointed  if  Harry  did  not  get  out  until — 
until  the  fiowers  came.  Now  is  not  that  a  poetical  notion?"  she 
continued,  with  real  or  affected  cheerfulness.  "  When  the  prim- 
roses and  bluebells  are  thick  in  the  woods,  and  the  air  quite  soft, 
then  Harry  will  make  his  first  appearance  out-of-doors.  Poor  lit- 
tle mite,  he  will  have  to  be  carried  ;  you  have  no  idea  how  his  legs 
are  wasted — of  course,  that  is  nothing  unusual — oh  dear,  no,  I 
have  often  seen  children  unable  to  stand  when  getting  up  from  a 
fever.  Yes,  I  suppose  he  will  have  to  be  carried;  and  I  am  going 
to  ask  a  favor  from  you  when  that  groat  day  comes — that  splen- 
did day — I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  lend  me  that  enormous  coat 
of  yours,  with  the  Canadian  furs — " 

"I  will  give  it  you,  and  gla<lly,"  he  said  at  once. 

"Oh  no,  no,  no;  it  is  only  for  the  first  day,  and  wc  will  wrap 
the  dear  in  it ;  and  the  nurse  will  carry  him  out  to  look  at  the 
world  again,  and  the  primroses,  and  the  woods.  Why,  wouldn't 
that  make  a  subject  for  a  picture? — you  mi<rht  call  it  'The  sick 


352  SABIXA    ZEMBEA. 

child's  first  day  out-of-doors' — the  nurse  in  her  hospital  dress, 
and  the  poor  little  white  face  peeping  out  from  the  furs." 

"The  poor  little  white  face,"  she  repeated,  absently — as  if  her 
eyes  were  turned  backward,  and  regarding  the  sick-room  behind 
her.  "  And  if  you  saw  how  thin  and  wasted  his  arms  are — you 
remember  the  tramway-car  you  brought  him ;  we  used  to  tie  a 
long  string  to  it,  and  put  it  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  room,  and 
let  him  pull  it  across  to  the  bedside.  But  he  has  no  strength  for 
that  now  —  or  perhaps  it  is  that  he  does  not  care  for  it  any 
more — " 

Tears  trembled  on  her  eyelashes ;  but  the  moment  he  tried  to 
comfoct  her  with  a  few  reassuring  words,  she  altered  her  tone. 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing  unusual,"  she  said,  quickly  (as  if  she  were 
eao-er  to  convince  herself).  "  I  have  often  seen  children  like  that. 
It  isn't  the  plump  children  who  are  safest  in  a  fever — quite  the 
reverse.  And  Harry  has  always  been  a  particularly  healthy  child. 
Of  course,  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  he  has  quite  recovered  his 
strength,  but  I  shall  be  satisfied  when  I  once  see  him  out-of-doors, 
with  some  bluebells  in  his  hand." 

"And  if  you  don't  object,"  Lindsay  said,  "I  think  I  should 
like  to  come  along  and  join  that  little  excursion." 

But  that  evening  he  waited  for  the  doctor.  The  doctor  was 
grave  and  reticent ;  he  could  not  be  got  to  say  anything  beyond 
the  merest  commonplaces  about  the  little  boy's  condition.  There 
was  a  singular  lack  of  vitality,  he  said ;  there  seemed  to  be  no 
fight  in  the  constitution  ;  the  recovery  that  was  natural  in  the  cir- 
cumstances seemed  to  drag.  Was  there  danger  ?  No  immediate 
danger,  he  thought ;  with  sounder  sleep,  and  some  little  increase 
in  his  food — if  only  he  could  be  persuaded  to  take  that — they 
would  probably  find  him  gradually  emerging  from  this  languor 
and  extreme  prostration.  In  the  mean  time,  everything  that  could 
be  done  was  being  done. 

Lindsay  walked  somewhat  slowly  and  thoughtfully  home  that 
evening — away  through  the  wan,  still,  moonlit  country.  And  his 
mind  was  busy,  not  with  the  coming  years,  but  with  the  coming 
weeks ;  and  there  were  dark  forebodings  that,  do  what  he  could, 
would  press  in  upon  him.  Once  or  twice  he  shivered  slightly,  as 
if  some  unknown  terror  had  glided  by,  touching  him  as  it  went. 
Or  perhaps  it  was  only  that  the  night  was  bitter  cold. 


A   SEVERANCE.  353 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

A  SEVERANCE. 

The  child  still  lingered  on  in  that  condition  of  impassive  lan- 
guor;  but  Sabina  maintained  her  defiant  attitude  ;  she  would  talk 
of  nothing  but  the  young  spring  days,  and  the  warm  winds,  and 
primroses  in  the  woods,  and  the  welcome  big  coat,  heavy  with  its 
Canadian  furs.  Only  her  lips  grew  thinner  and  paler,  and  her 
eyes  were  at  times  haggard,  as  if  with  much  midnight  thinking. 

Once  she  broke  down.  Lindsay  had  been  up  to  London,  and 
had  brought  back  with  him  a  little  toy,  which  he  offered  to  her 
humbly.     It  was  a  light  little  thing  that  ran  on  wheels. 

"It  is  not  so  heavy  as  the  tram-car,"  he  said.  "Perhaps,  now, 
if  you  would  tie  a  bit  of  string  to  that,  he  could  pull  it  across  the 
floor." 

She  looked  at  the  toy  in  silence  ;  there  was  a  slight  quivering  of 
her  lips. 

"Yes,  perhaps — perhaps,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  but  the 
thin  wee  arms  are  not  very  strong." 

She  suddenly  looked  up,  in  a  wild,  frightened  way. 

"  Mr.  Lindsay,  my  boy  is  not  going  to  die,  is  he  ?  They  are  not 
going  to  take  away  my  little  boy  from  me?" 

It  was  a  cry  of  anguish  rather  than  of  appeal ;  her  nerves  were 
all  unstrung  ;  and  the  next  moment  she  had  burst  into  a  frantic  fit 
of  weeping.  The  curtains  fell  from  her  hands  ;  she  was  invisible 
to  him ;  he  could  only  hear  her  sobs.  And  then  there  was  the 
sound  of  a  door  opening  and  shutting;  she  had  gone  away,  to 
her  unceasing  vigil,  with  its  awful  and  growing  fear. 

He  sent  for  Janie,  who  came  down  forthwith  ;  and  he  went  to 
meet  her  at  the  station.  When  she  got  out  of  the  railway-car- 
riage, she  gave  him  her  hand  in  silence;  she  was  trembling  like  .1 
leaf;  she  could  not  utter  a  word. 

"  I  have  got  a  room  for  you  at  the  Checkers,"  he  said,  "  It  is 
the  best  they  have.  Of  course,  you  won't  let  her  know  you  are 
here ;  it  would  only  madden  her  with  fright." 


354  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"As  you  think  best,"  was  all  she  said. 

But  as  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  village,  she  said  to  him, 

"  If  anything-  happens  to  the  boy,  then  it's  all  over  with  Sabie. 
He  was  just  the  world  to  her.  If  he  is  taken  away,  then  she  will 
give  in — it  will  kill  her." 

"  Don't  say  that,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "  Trouble  comes  to 
every  one ;  it  has  to  be  borne." 

"  But  who  has  had  such  trouble  as  she  has  had — and  who  has 
so  little  deserved  it  ?"  she  said  ;  and  she  was  very  much  excited  in 
her  distress.  "I  say  it  is  not — it  is  not  justice.  Yes,  plenty  of 
people  have  trouble — but  they  are  not  like  Sabie.  She  has  just 
lived  for  others.  And  now  the  little  boy — her  one  consolation  in 
the  world — Mr.  Lindsay,  do  you  call  that  justice?" 

"  Things  are  not  at  their  worst  yet,"  he  said  to  her.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  can  stay  here  for  a  day  or  two  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  How  could  I  go  away  until — until  I  knew  that  the 
boy  was  out  of  danger,"  said  Janie,  bravely.  "  Phil  is  going  to 
run  down  to-morrow  to  see  that  I  am  comfortably  settled  ;  but  I 
am  sure  there  is  no  need." 

"  As  to  that,"  said  he,  "if  you  would  rather  have  the  room  that 
Mrs.  Reid  occupies  now,  I  could  send  her  to  the  Checkers  to  sleep. 
But  I  am  afraid  Sabina  would  get  to  know  you  were  in  the  house 
■ — and  it  would  alarm  her." 

''No,  no,  the  inn  will  do  very  well,"  Janie  said. 

"I  thought  she  ought  to  have  a  woman-friend  near  her,  just  in 
case  anything  should  happen,"  he  contiimed.  "And  I  am  sure 
I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  here ;  for  a  woman's  judgment  in  lots 
of  things  is  more  delicate  and  discriminating  than  a  man's.  What 
do  you  think,  now,  of  sending  word  to  Sir  Anthony  that  the  little 
boy  is  seriously  ill — I  mean,  without  letting  Sabina  know;  shouldn't 
that  be  done  ?  Of  course,  I  would  do  nothing  of  the  kind  if  I 
thought  he  would  come  down  and  alarm  her  in  some  stupid  way." 

Janie  received  the  mention  of  Sir  Anthony  Zembra's  name  with 
marked  coldness — nay,  with  open  scorn. 

"  I  wrote  to  him  the  last  ihue  1  was  down,"  she  said ;  "  Sabie 
asked  me  to  write.  The  letter  had  to  be  soaked  in  carbolic-acid, 
although  it  had  never  been  in  the  sick-room  at  all.  And  do  you 
think  Sir  Anthony  would  come  near  a  house  in  which  there  was 
scarlet-fever  ?  Not  likely.  He  has  far  too  great  a  sense  of  his 
importance  to  the  country.     A  man  of  such  value  to  the  nation 


A   SEVERANCE.  355 

couldn't  afford  to  run  such  a  risk.  And  society — tbink  of  the 
possibility  of  society  losing  so  handsome  and  distinguished-look- 
ing an  ornament," 

"  You  are  revengeful.  But  I  really  think  we  ought  to  send  bira 
word  that  the  boy  is  seriously  ill.    And  you  must  write  the  note." 

By  this  time  they  were  arrived  at  the  inn,  where  Janie  found 
that  they  bad  prepared  a  very  snng  little  room  for  her.  There 
was  a  fire  burning  brightly ;  there  were  some  books  and  flowers 
on  the  table  ;  this  would  make  quite  an  excellent  little  sitting-room 
in  the  daytime,  if  she  chose.  But  besides  that,  they  had  placed 
at  her  disposal  a  small  inner  parlor  down-stairs,  in  which  she  could 
see  any  one;  they  seemed  anxious  to  oblige  this  friend  of  the 
young  mother  whose  trouble  had  awakened  general  sympathy. 

Janie  wrote  the  note  to  Sir  Anthony  that  afternoon  ;  and,  con- 
trary to  all  expectation,  he  came  down  to  Witstcad  the  very  next 
day.  But  it  was  neither  she  nor  Walter  Lindsay — it  was  Lind- 
say's house-keeper,  Mrs.  Reid,  who  found  at  the  door  of  the  cottage 
this  tall,  handsome,  fresh-complexioned,  white-haired,  bland-look- 
ing man.  Standing  a  little  bit  back,  he  made  the  usual  inquiries 
as  to  how  the  child  was  going  on,  and  said  he  was  sorry  to  have 
no  better  news.     Then  he  said, 

"  You  will  tell  Mrs.  Foster  that  her  father  called—" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir — her  father  did  you  say  ?"  Mrs.  Reid 
said,  in  some  surprise. 

"  Yes." 

"But  won't  you  come  in,  sir?" 

"Oh  dear,  no — I  suppose  what  you  have  told  me  is  quite  cor- 
rect?" 

"But  wouldn't  you  like  to  see  the  poor  lady,  sir?" 

"  No,  no ;  no,  no.  I  suppose  you  are  not  aware  that  she  has 
brothers  and  sisters.  She  herself  would  be  the  last  to  expect  that 
I  should  run  the  risk  of  carrving  infection  to  members  of  her  own 
family." 

lie  delivered  these  sentences  with  that  calm  ami  impressive 
manner  well  known  to  the  House  of  Commons,  when,  having 
caught  Mr.  Speaker's  eye,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  placed  his  right  hand 
within  the  breast  of  his  frock-coat,  and,  with  another  glaiuu'  round 
the  House,  said  "Sir!"  Naturally,  this  poor  house-keeper  was 
overawed;  but  she  was  an  elderly  woman,  with  some  experience 
of  human  life;  and  she  had  a  bewildered,  instinctive  notion  that 


356  SABINA   ZEMBRA, 

a  father  would  like  to  see  his  daughter — if  only  but  to  say  a  kindly 
word  to  her — in  the  time  of  her  great  trouble. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  understand,  sir — the  two  rooms  are  quite 
isolated,"  she  said.  "There  are  carbolic  curtains  separating  them 
from  the  rest  of  the  house.  There  would  be  no  risk  of  carrying 
infection." 

"  Permit  me  to  be  the  best  judge  of  that,"  he  observed. 

"  Oh,  certainly,  sir,"  she  said,  with  apparent  humility;  but  she 
was  beginning  to  rebel  a  little ;  she  was  a  vertebrate  animal. 

"  And  I  will  thank  you  to  take  my  instructions.  I  wish  my 
daughter  to  be  informed  that  I  called,  and  that  I  was  sorry  not  to 
hear  better  news.  If  she  wants  for  anything,  I  hope  she  will  write 
— by  a  third  person,  mind — be  particular  about  that,  if  you  please 
— she  must  write  by  a  third  person,  as  she  did  on  the  last  occa- 
sion, and  I  will  see  that  her  wishes  are  attended  to.  Good-morn- 
ing." 

"Good-morning,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Reid;  and  for  a  minute  or  two 
she  stood  on  the  door-step,  looking  after  the  stately  and  handsome 
gentleman,  who  passed  down  through  the  little  garden,  and  finally 
disappeared  away  along  the  road.  But  she  did  not  at  once  go  up- 
stairs. She  had  been  interrupted  in  some  domestic  duties,  and 
she  went  back  to  the  kitchen  to  resume  these ;  and  for  a  while 
she  was  chiefly  engaged  in  considering  what  kindly  little  messages 
she  could  safely  add  to  that  which  had  been  left  with  her  to  de- 
liver. And  she  thought  that  when  Mr,  Lindsay  came  along  in  the 
afternoon,  and  when  she  confessed  what  she  had  done,  he  would 
say  that  these  lies  were  very  white  indeed. 

So  the  anxious  days  passed.  Lindsay  saw  little  of  Sabina  now. 
AVhen  he  rapped  at  the  door  she  sent  the  nurse.  She  would  not 
leave  the  bedside  where  that  small  life  seemed  to  be  flickering  so 
feebly.     The  nurse  said  to  him  once, 

"  I  wish  you  would  speak  to  her,  sir.  She  won't  take  any  rest. 
Sometimes  she  falls  into  a  doze  in  her  chair — for  a  few  minutes; 
that  is  all.     No  human  being  can  bear  up  against  that  long." 

"  Tell  her  I  want  to  see  her,"  he  said. 

In  a  second  or  two  Sabina  was  there;  he  was  shocked  at  the 
change  he  saw. 

"  You  are  acting  very  wrongly,"  he  said.  "  This  weakness  may 
last  for  a  long  time — what  is  to  become  of  your  care,  of  your 
nursing,  if  you  will  take  no  rest  ?" 


A    SEVERANCE.  367 

*'  I  have  tried — I  cannot  sleep,"  she  said,  simply. 

"  No,  you  cannot  sleep  so  long  as  you  remain  in  that  room. 
Why  not  lie  down  in  the  nurse's  room  when  it  is  her  turn  to  sit 
by  him  ?" 

'.'  I  cannot  be  away  from  my  boy,"  she  said. 

Then  she  suddenly  raised  her  head  and  fixed  a  strangely  scruti- 
nizing glance  upon  him,  as  if  she  would  read  him  through  and 
through. 

"  Mr.  Lindsay,  is  the  doctor  telling  me  the  whole  truth  ?  He  is 
not  concealing  anything?     What  does  he  say  to  you?" 

Piteous  and  haggard  as  were  her  eyes,  he  felt  that  they  had  a 
certain  command  in  them. 

"  You  are  my  friend — I  trust  you  to  tell  me  the  whole  truth," 
she  said.     "  You  cannot  refuse." 

Well,  he  did  not  try  to  shirk  the  responsibility.  As  nearly  as 
lie  could  he  repeated  the  very  phrases — inconclusive  as  these  were 
— which  the  doctor  had  used  to  himself.  She  listened  in  silence, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  weighing  every  word.  The  pale,  sad  face 
betrayed  no  emotion  ;  but  her  eyes  were  distant  and  thoughtful  as 
she  retired,  without  further  questioning,  into  the  room. 

He  went  over  the  way  to  the  Checkers,  and  sent  for  Janie  to 
come  down-stairs. 

"I  suppose  you  have  all  your  things  ready?"  he  said,  referring 
to  a  complete  change  of  costume  she  had  got  down  from  Lon- 
don, lest  at  any  moment  she  might  be  asked  to  take  her  place  in 
the  sick-chamber. 

"  Yes,  everything,"  was  the  instant  answer. 

"Well,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done,  as  far  as  I  can  see," 
he  continued.  "  Sabina  is  killing  herself.  The  watching  and  the 
anxiety  combined  are  too  much  for  lier  —  you  can  see  it  in  her 
face,  in  her  eyes.  Poor  creature,  it  is  no  longer  '  like  playing  at 
having  illness  in  the  house.'     That  was  making  sure  too  soon." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  Janie  said. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  right  into  the  room  and  insist  on  remaining 
there;  and  then  you  must  force  Sabina  to  lie  down  from  time  to 
time  and  get  some  rest.  The  nurse  has  no  authority  over  her; 
you  must  have." 

"  I  may  frighten  her  if  I  go  in  suddenly,"  Janie  said,  in  doubt. 

"She  is  frightened  of  only  one  thing — she  thinks  of  nothing 
else — she  will  hardly  heed  you,"  he  said. 


358  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

So  Janie  went  over  to  the  cottage,  and  installed  herself  in  the 
sick-room  without  protest.  There  was  little  nursing  to  be  done; 
only  waiting,  and  waiting  for  what  nearly  every  one  in  secret 
feared. 

One  evening  the  doctor  came  down-stairs  and  found  Walter 
Lindsay  reading  a  book  in  the  little  parlor.  He  was  really  wait- 
ing for  news. 

"Don't  you  think  you  should  send  for  her  father?"  the  doctor 
said. 

Lindsay  looked  up  quickly. 

"Then  the  end  is  near?" 

"  I  am  afraid  so,"  the  doctor  said,  speaking  low  so  that  no  one 
should  overhear.  "  Never  since  this  lingering  began  has  there 
been  any  si<xn  of  a  fi2;ht  aijainst  it — nothinsf  but  a  gradual  losing 
of  vitality — and  now  the  child  is  alive,  but  that  is  all  you  can 
say." 

"  But  surely  patients  sometimes  recover  after  they  have  got 
down  to  the  lowest  phase  of  exhaustion?  Isn't  there  a  chance? 
If  it  is  only  weakness,  there  might  come  a  turn  ?" 

He  put  these  questions  without  much  hope  of  an  answer.  What 
he  was  really  thinking  of  was  Sabina  in  her  lonely  condition,  be- 
reft of  all  she  cared  for  on  earth.  Nor  was  this  the  first  time  that 
picture  had  come  before  his  mind.  For  days  back  dread  possi- 
bilities had  been  ever  present;  and  in  his  solitary  evenings,  sitting 
before  the  fire  and  absently  looking  to  the  future,  he  sometimes 
saw  a  young  widow,  in  deepest  mourning,  enter  a  little  church- 
yard. There  was  a  small  white  gravestone  there,  with  flowers 
around  it,  and  perhaps,  after  the  simple  record  of  name  and  date, 
this  inscription,  '"'' Du  Heilige,  riife  dein  Kind  ziiruckP  The 
young  mother  kneeling — that  was  a  pitiless  sight — and  putting 
further  little  flowers  on  the  little  grave. 

He  had  almost  forgotten  the  presence  of  the  doctor  in  the 
room. 

"  There  is  no  hope,  then  ?"  he  said,  looking  up  from  his  reverie. 

"One  mast  never  say  that,"  was  the  answer.  "But,  for  my- 
self, I  think  the  end  is  near." 

"  Does  she  know  ?" 

"  I  imagine  so,  though  nothing  definite  has  been  said.  I  hear 
she  has  had  some  violent  fits  of  crying  when  she  was  by  herself 
in  the  smaller  room.     I  thmk  she  is  prepared  for  the  worst.     In- 


A   SEVERANCE.  359 

deed,  she  is  almost  in  a  dazed  condition,  what  with  want  of  sleep 
and  fatigue  and  dread  of  what  may  happen.  I  am  glad  of  it. 
She  is  so  worn  out  that  when  the  end  does  come  it  will  be  less  of 
a  shock ;  her  nerves  seem  to  be  numbed ;  she  goes  about  in  a 
kind  of  hopeless  and  mechanical  way — yes,  I  think  she  must 
know." 

"  As  for  sending  for  her  father,  that  would  be  no  use,  as  he 
would  not  come  near  a  house  where  there  had  been  scarlet-fever. 
And  as  for  her  late  husband's  father,  he  can't  stir  out-of-doors  on 
account  of  rheumatism,  or  he  would  have  been  here  ere  now,  he 
■writes.  But  when  you  think  the  crisis  is  at  hand,  I  will  go  along 
to  the  vicarage  and  ask  Mr.  Lulworth  to  come  and  be  with  her. 
The  family  have  been  very  kind  to  her,  and  she  has  a  great  re- 
spect for  the  old  man.     Don't  you  think  I  should  do  that?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  When  ?" 

"  As  far  as  appearances  go,  I  think  the  boy  may  last  through 
the  night." 

"But  not  much  longer?"  said  Lindsay,  considerably  startled. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  he  said. 

However,  it  was  not  until  late  the  following  night  that  the  end 
came.  Janie  was  in  the  room  and  the  clergyman  ;  the  nurse  had 
retired;  her  services  were  unavailing  now;  Walter  Lindsay  was 
below,  waiting  anxiously  enough  for  news.  Sabina  would  not 
leave  the  bedside ;  she  knelt  there  motionless,  voiceless,  tearless, 
holding  the  small,  thin  hand  in  hers,  her  very  soul  hanging  on 
that  faint  breathing  that  was  gradually  growing  more  and  more 
feeble.  And  then  the  little  life,  happily  without  any  struggle, 
passed  quite  quietly  away,  and  the  mother's  head  fell  forward  on 
the  bed  with  a  dumb  moan  of  agony.  No  tears  came  to  her  aid  ; 
she  was  too  worn  out  and  bewildered  and  stricken  down.  Con- 
sciousness seemed  to  have  gone  from  her  with  that  low  wail  of 
pain.  Janie  was  at  her  side,  and  would  have  taken  her  away,  but 
the  next  moment  Sabina  was  erect  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and 
lier  eyes  were  as  one  bereft  of  reason,  taking  no  heed  of  those 
around  her,  and  for  a  second  she  looked  as  if  she  were  listening. 
Then  she  went  quickly  to  the  window  and  tore  aside  the  blind. 
Far  overhead  the  midnight  skies  were  shining,  the  mvriad  stars 
were  cold  and  clear.     A  little  way  she  raised  her  ti'ombling  fingers 


360  SABINA   ZEMBRA, 

as  if  she  would  fain  reach  to  those  distant  plains,  and  then  they 
heard  the  stifled  and  piteous  cry, 

"  And  there  is  no  one — no  one  there — to  take  care  of  my  little 
boy  !" 

"No  one,"  said  the  clergyman,  *' no  one  —  except  Christ  the 
Lord." 

And  then  be  put  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and  led  her  from  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

DARKENED   DATS. 


This  should  have  been  a  wedding  morning.  .  The  earth  had 
donned  her  fairest  bridal  robes — the  soft  snow  mantle  gaining  a 
touch  of  gold  from  the  wintry  sunlight ;  clear  and  cloudless  shone 
the  pale-blue  skies;  there  were  diamonds  sparkling  in  the  hedge- 
rows; the  vane  of  the  church-spire  flashed  a  distant  ray.  But  it 
was  a  black-hued  little  procession  that  moved  slowly  through  the 
white,  hushed  world — out  from  the  straggling  village,  along  the 
rutted  lane,  and  up  to  the  gate  of  the  church-yard.  The  neigh- 
bors were  lingering  about  the  porch ;  when  the  tiny  coflBn  had 
been  carried  in,  they  followed,  and  entered  the  pews ;  no  one 
seemed  to  notice  that,  just  before  the  door  was  shut,  two  women, 
both  dressed  in  deep  mourning  and  closely  veiled,  came  in  last  of 
all  and  took  their  places  rather  apart  from  the  rest.  They  were 
in  the  dusk;  their  heads  were  bent  down  ;  not  even  Walter  Lind- 
say guessed  that  the  stricken  mother  was  there,  come  to  hear  those 
dreadful  words  of  a  last  farewell. 

When  the  service  was  over,  and  the  little  crowd  passed  out 
again  into  the  sunlight  and  the  snow,  these  two  remained  behind 
for  a  second. 

"  Sabie — dear  Sabie — come  home  now  !  You  can't  hear  it ;  it 
will  kill  you  1" 

She  did  not  answer ;  she  only  shook  her  head.  But  as  they 
went  out  into  the  white  church-yard  she  held  Janie's  arm  tight, 
for  she  was  trembling  a  little.  They  took  up  their  .station  a  short 
distance  from  the  others ;  the  by-standers  paid  no  heed  to  them ; 
all  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  clergyman  r.nd  the  open  grave, 
and  the  small,  small  coflBn  covered  with  white  flowers.     It  was 


DARKENED    DATS.  361 

when  they  proceeded  to  lower  that  tiny  coffin  into  the  grave  that 
Janie  found  her  companion  was  shaking  like  a  leaf,  so  that  she 
was  afraid  she  would  totter  and  fall ;  and  when  the  first  sprinkling 
of  earth  struck  with  its  hollow  and  ominous  sound,  the  young 
mother  utter  a  short  and  stifled  cry,  as  if  a  dagger  had  gone 
through  her  heart.  Janie  had  almost  to  drag  her  away.  "  My 
little  boy !" — that  was  all  she  said ;  and  she  spoke  no  more  as 
they  made  their  way  back  to  the  village,  far  in  advance  of  the 
others,  the  two  black  figures  in  that  world  of  white.  Arrived 
there,  Janie  took  her  to  her  own  room  in  the  inn.  Sabina  was 
purposeless  in  a  strange  kind  of  way :  she  sate  down  at  the  win- 
dow where  she  could  see — across  the  dream-like  waste  of  snow — 
the  little  church,  and  its  windows,  and  the  spire,  and  the  vane 
sending  forth  its  steady  golden  ray.  Then  her  head  fell  forward 
on  her  hands. 

A  message  came  for  Janie  that  Sir  Anthony  Zembra  was  below 
and  wanted  to  see  her.  She  went  down  to  the  small  parlor. 
Never  in  all  this  world  was  there  a  more  suave  and  distinguished- 
looking  and  perfectly  appointed  mourner;  as  he  took  off  his 
black  kid  gloves  and  put  them  on  the  table,  so  that  he  might  rub 
his  hands  because  of  the  cold,  and  as  he  took  up  his  position  on 
the  hearth-rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  he  seemed  to  say  that  not  any 
one  of  the  trials  or  duties  of  life  could  find  him  wanting;  put 
the  occasion  before  him,  he  was  there,  and  equal  to  it. 

"  I  heard  that  she  was  with  you,"  he  remarked.  He  had  not 
seen  his  daughter  that  morning — not  having  cared  to  go  within- 
doors. 

"Yes,"  Janie  answered.  "She  will  stay  here  until  the  house 
is  disinfected.  My  husband  and  Mr.  Lindsay  were  going  up  to 
London  immediately  the  funeral  was  over,  to  see  about  having  it 
done  at  once." 

"A  most  necessary  measure,"  Sir  Anthony  observed,  with  ap- 
proval. "  It  is  an  imperative  duty  that  one  owes  to  the  rest  of 
the  community.  And  I  hope  it  will  be  done  thoroughly,  whether 
Sabina  goes  back  to  the  cottage  or  not.  She  herself  has  always 
been  too  reckless  in  such  matters — " 

"  I  doti't  think  so  at  all !"  Janie  said,  rather  hotly  ;  who  was 
he  that  he  should  criticise  Salniia's  conduct? 

"  Ah,  you  joined  with  her  in  those  foolish  enterprises,"  he  said, 
with  a  superior  air. 
16 


362  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

"  My  share  in  thera  may  have  been  foolish  enough  —  Sabie's 
never  was,"  said  Janie,  whose  meek  eyes  were  growing  indignant. 
"It's  all  very  well  for  people  who  .sit  in  their  own  homes,  sur- 
rounded by  every  selfish  luxury — it's  all  very  well  for  them  to 
talk  of  foolishness  when  any  one  tries  to  do  a  little  good  in  the 
world.  Perhaps  you  never  even  took  the  trouble  to  go  and  see 
what  it  was  that  Sabie  was  doing  ?" 

"We  will  not  discuss  the  question,"  he  said,  in  his  grand  man- 
ner. "  If  I  have  offended  yon,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  merely 
wished  to  express  the  hope  that  before  my  daughter  goes  back  to 
the  cottage  the  most  rigid  precautions  may  be  taken  to  guard 
against  the  spread  of  infection.  Temerity  in  such  matters  is  the 
worst  of  folly.  It  is  not  bravery  ;  it  is  criminal  heedlessness.  And 
I  think  that  even  you  cannot  deny  that  Sabina  has  always  shown 
herself  far  too  careless — only  now  she  may  be  warned  by  the  ter- 
rible consequences." 

"But  what  do  you  mean?"  Janie  said,  with  her  face  grown  a 
trifle  pale.  "  That  Sabie  was  careless  about  her  boy  ? — that  she 
"was  responsible — "  Janie's  words  failed  her  :  her  indignation  was 
too  great.  But  she  palled  herself  together.  "  Have  you  anything 
further  to  say  to  me.  Sir  Anthony  ?"  she  demanded,  coldly.  "  I 
am  going  back  to  Sabie." 

"  I  wish  to  hear  what  she  proposes  doing,"  Sir  Anthony  said ; 
"  that  is  all." 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  Janie's  answer. 

"  For  it  is  quite  absurd  her  going  back  to  live  by  herself  in  that 
cottage,"  he  continued.  "I  suppose  that  at  present  it  would  be 
useless  for  me  to  see  her  to  discuss  the  matter  with  her." 

"  She  won't  see  anybody — she  cau't,"  Janie  answered. 

"  At  all  events,  I  should  like  her  to  know  this,"  Sir  Anthony 
said,  "  that  Lady  Zembra  is  perfectly  willing  that  she  should  return 
to  her  own  home — always,  of  course,  on  condition  that  she  should 
abandon  those  pursuits  which  made  that  impossible  when  she  used 
to  be  in  London.  Probably  she  has  had  enough  of  that.  In  the 
circumstances,  then,  and  with  the  condition  I  name,  we  are  quite 
willing  she  should  return  to  her  own  home." 

"  As  for  that,"  said  Janie  (and  there  was  a  touch  of  scorn  in 
her  voice  that  might  have  pierced  Sir  Anthony's  complacency,  had 
that  not  been  so  entirely  gigantic) — "  as  for  that,  Sabie  will  never 
have  to  go  begging  for  a  home.     There  are  plenty  who  would  be 


DARKENED    DAYS.  363 

proud  to  liave  her — proud  and  pleased.  And  I  know  that  if  she  will 
come  and  live  with  us,  neither  my  husband  nor  myself  will  stay  to 
impose  any  condition — no,  she  shall  live  in  any  way  she  pleases — 
and  I  can  answer  for  it  that  her  welcome  will  be  none  the  less." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Sir  Anthony,  looking  at  her  as  if  she  were  some 
kind  of  sentimental  maniac.  "  Well,  it  is  a  good  thing  to  have 
friends.  But  friendship  is  apt  to  get  strained  if  one  lives  contin- 
ually in  the  same  liouse." 

"  Was  it  ever  so  in  Kensington  Square?"  said  Janie,  boldly. 

He  did  not  answer  that  question. 

"  Common-sense,"  he  went  on  to  observe,  "  would  suggest  that 
a  single  woman  in  her  circumstances  should  come  and  live  in  her 
own  home.  At  the  same  time,  if  she  prefers  lier  freedom — I  mean, 
if  she  wishes  to  return  to  tiie  occupations  of  those  former  days — 
■well  and  good  ;  she  will  have  her  allowance  as  before." 

Janie  interposed  quickly  and  with  a  tlushed  fiM-ehead. 

"  Of  course,  if  she  comes  to  live  with  us,  it  will  be  as  our  guest. 
That  is  clearly  understood  by  all  of  us." 

"  Oh,  then,  you  have  put  that  proposal  before  her?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  her  answer  ?" 

"  It  was  only  a  suggestion — we  wanted  her  to  know  that  there 
was  a  home  awaiting  her — and  she  said  nothing  definite  in  reply. 
And  at  present  it  is  useless  to  say  anything." 

"  At  all  events,"  Sir  Anthony  said,  "  you  are  of  opinion  that  she 
should  not  continue  to  live  by  herself  in  that  cottage?  Why, 
good  gracious,  she  might  be  murdered  in  bed  ;  that  would  be  a 
nice  story  to  get  into  the  papers !" 

This,  indeed,  was  an  appalling  thought — that  the  name  of  Sir 
Anthonv  Zembra  might  be  dragged  into  the  public  prints  in  con- 
nection wiih  an  obscure  and  revolting  village  tragedy  ! 

"Yes,  I  want  to  get  her  away  from  here,"  said  Janie,  sadly, 
"  but  it  is  no  use  talking  to  her  at  present.  I  wish  she  was  not 
going  back  into  the  cottage  at  all.  I  wish  she  would  come  away 
with  us  this  very  afternoon,  as  soon  as  I'hil — my  husband,!  mean 
— as  soon  as  he  coines  down  from  town.  That  would  be  the  best 
thing." 

"Then  do  you  return  home  this  afternoon?" 

She  glanced  at  him  in  surprise ;  she  could  hardly  understand 
any  human  being  putting  such  a  question. 


364  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  Oil  no !  How  could  I  do  that?  IIow  could  I  leave  Sable  at 
such  a  time — alone  ?  If  she  would  go  with  us,  that  would  be  well ; 
but  as  it  is,  I  must  remain  with  her  to  see  what  she  is  going  to  do." 

"  And  when  she  has  decided  that,  I  hope  you  will  let  me  know," 
Sir  Anthony  said  ;  and  he  took  up  his  gloves.  "  I  presume,  when 
these  sanitary  measures  have  been  carried  out,  there  will  be  no 
possibility  of  a  letter  conveying  infection.  You  might  tell  my 
daughter  that  Lady  Zembra  would  have  written  to  her  to  express 
her  sympathy,  but  that  she  thought  it  more  prudent  not  to  open 
communication  with  a  house  in  which  there  was  fever.  We  have 
got  to  consult  the  safety  of  others,  not  our  own  feelings." 

When  he  had  delivered  himself  of  this  wise  saying,  Sir  Anthony 
took  up  his  hat  and  umbrella,  again  asked  Janic  to  communicate 
with  him  when  Sabina  had  come  to  a  decision,  bade  her  good-by 
graciously,  and  set  out  for  the  station.  He  walked  with  an  air  of 
lofty  satisfaction  ;  he  seemed  to  think  that  it  was  he  who  was 
diffusing  that  cheerful  sunlight  over  the  wide  landscape. 

Those  next  few  days  at  Witstead  were  terrible.  Sabina  had 
wholly  given  way  to  a  dumb  stupor  of  misery  and  hopelessness ; 
she  was  as  one  walking  in  the  dark,  seeing  nothing  of  what  was 
around  her,  heeding  no  one.  She  hardly  ever  spoke  ;  she  had  no 
wild  fits  of  crying;  there  was  nothing  but  this  dreadful  monotony 
of  unuttered  and  unutterable  grief.  Mechanically  she  went  up 
every  morning  to  the  little  grave,  with  a  poor  handful  of  flowers ; 
sometimes  she  would  go  in  the  afternoon  too ;  and  always  her 
dull  despairing  thoughts  were  there. 

Janie  sought  in  vain  to  distract  her  and  arouse  her.  Some- 
times she  wilfully  inflicted  pain,  if  but  to  break  in  upon  this  danger- 
ous listlessness.  Once  she  went  the  length  of  asking  what  should 
be  done,  when  they  could  go  into  the  house  again,  with  the  little 
boy's  toys  and  playthings.     Sabina  shivered,  but  did  not  answer. 

Janic  went  to  Walter  Lindsay,  who  was  pretty  frequently  over 
at  Witstead  hurrying  on  the  workmen. 

"  I  do  everything  I  can  to  get  her  to  talk,"  said  Janie,  "  and  of 
course  she  has  to  settle  what  she  is  going  to  do.  But  it  is  very 
strange.  She  is  keeping  something  back  from  me.  It  is  always, 
'  Wait  a  little  while,  and  I  will  tell  you.'  I  don't  understand  it  at 
all.  Even  about  the  house — it  appears  it  belongs  to  a  Mr.  Deane ; 
but  she  does  not  know  where  he  is ;  and  when  I  asked  her  how 
she  paid  the  rent,  it  was  the  same  thing — '  Wait  a  little  while, 


DARKENED    DAYS.  365 

Janie,  and  I  will  tell  you  everything.  I  cannot  talk  to  you  now, 
or  to  any  one.'  But  she  thinks  it  is  you  who  put  the  fresh  flow- 
ers on  the  little  grave  every  morning.     Is  it  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Do  you  know  who  it  is,  then  ?" 

He  hesitated. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  must  know,  it  is  one  of  the  Lulworth  girls.  I 
asked  her  to  do  it  for  nie.  I  have  them  sent  down  from  London, 
and  she  takes  them  up.     You  need  not  say  anything  about  it." 

Janie  thought  she  would  follow  her  own  counsel  about  that. 

"Then  what  do  you  think  she  is  going  to  do?"  he  asked. 

"  As  likely  as  not,  she  will  go  back  to  the  hospital  and  become 
permanent  nurse,"  Janie  answered  ;  but  this  was  merely  a  guess  of 
her  own.  "It  is  dreadful  to  think  of  the  poor,  broken,  wasted 
life.  You  remember  what  Sable  used  to  be  in  the  old  days? 
Well,  last  night  I  was  lying  awake,  and  I  was  wondering  whether 
it  would  not  be  possible  for  some  one  to  take  Sabie  entirely  away 
from  what  has  happened  during  these  last  years  —  to  take  her 
away  altogether  to  some  other  country,  and  teach  her  to  forget. 
And  I  thought  that  you  were  the  only  one  who  cared  for  her 
enough,  and  had  money  to  do  it  as  well ;  and  I  saw  all  sorts  of 
pictures  of  you  two — walking  along  the  Promenade  Anglais  at 
Nice,  and  Sabie  laughing  and  happy  again — " 

He  turned  very  pale,  but  she  did  not  notice ;  she  was  intent 
upon  her  waking  dreams  of  the  previous  night. 

"  Yes,  and  I  followed  you  to  Venice — I  was  an  invisible  ghost 
attending  you — and  I  saw  Sabie  feeding  the  pigeons  in  the  square; 
and  I  saw  you  and  her  in  one  of  the  glass-factories  over  at  Mura- 
no,  and  you  were  drawing  her  initials  on  a  bit  of  paper,  so  that  the 
man  could  copy  them  and  put  them  on  the  jug  he  was  moulding 
for  her.  I  wonder  if  such  a  thing  happens  in  the  world  —  for 
people  to  forget  the  years  of  misery  they  have  gone  through,  and 
become  happy  again  as  they  used  to  be  ?  It  seems  hard,  if  it  is 
impossible." 

However,  these  were  forecasts  of  a  vague  and  shadmvy  future; 
and  in  the  mean  time  Janie  was  soon  to  be  startled  by  a  definite 
announcement  of  Sabina's  plans.  On  the  second  evening  after 
they  had  returned  to  Wayside  Cottage,  the  fumigation  and  so 
forth  all  being  over,  these  two  were  seated  in  the  little  parlor  to- 
gether, Janie  sewing,  S.ibina  pretending  to  read,  but  more  often 


366  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

with  her  calm,  sad  eyes  fixed  wistfully  on  the  fire  before  them.  At 
length  she  took  a  letter  from  her  pocket. 

"  Janie,"  she  said,  "  a  few  days  ago  I  wrote  to  old  Mr.  Foster 
down  in  Buckinghamshire,  and  this  morning  I  received  his  answer." 

Janie  was  a  little  surprised  to  have  heard  nothing  of  this  be- 
fore, and  quite  simply  and  naturally  she  put  out  her  hand  to  take 
the  letter — for  there  never  had  been  secrets  between  these  two.  It 
was  hastily  withdrawn,  however. 

"  He  writes  very  kindly,"  Sabina  said,  slowly  ;  "  and  he  asks  me 
to  go  and  live  with  him,  though  he  says  it's  a  dull  house.  I  won- 
der if  he  thinks  it  is  gayety  that  I  should  prefer." 

"And  are  you  going?"  said  Janie,  rather  breathlessly. 

"  When  I  have  everything  settled  up  here,  yes.  I  think  it  is 
the  best  thing  I  can  do." 

"Oh,  Sabie,  we  shall  never  see  you  at  all !"  Janie  cried. 

"  And  don't  yon  think  that  would  be  best  ?"  was  the  calm  an- 
swer; she  was  staring  absently  into  the  tiames. 

Janie's  eyes  grew  moist  quickly  enough. 

"  After  the  friends  that  you  and  I  have  been,  Sabie,  it  does 
seem — a  little  hard — that  you  should  talk  in  that  quiet  way  about 
going  away  from  us  forever." 

"  But  I  shall  not  forget,"  the  other  said,  "  And  soon  after  I 
am  there  I  will  write  you  a  long,  long  letter,  to  explain  a  number 
of  things.  I  ought  to  tell  you  the  whole  story  now,  but  I  have 
not  the  courage.     And  I  am  so  tired,"  she  added,  wearily. 

Janie  did  not  understand  what  this  promise  meant,  and  perhaps 
paid  little  attention  to  it,  for  she  was  bent  on  opposing  this  deci- 
sion;  it  seemed  so  dreadful  that  Sabina  should  withdraw  herself 
into  a  seclusion  so  remote  from  all  those  who  had  known  her. 

"  You  have  so  many  friends  in  London,  Sabie !  It  was  bad 
enough  your  coming  down  here ;  but  now,  when  there  is  no  rea- 
son in  the  world  why  you  shouldn't  come  and  live  with  us — I 
wish  Phil  were  here,  and  he  would  speak  for  himself — to  think 
of  your  going  away  down  to  that  place,  to  bury  yourself  alone, 
and  brood  over  all  that  has  happened.  Is  it  wise  ?  Is  it  rea- 
sonable ?  Surely  you  should  come  among  your  friends — I  don't 
mean  at  this  precise  moment  —  but  by-and-by,  when  time  has 
begun  to  tell  a  little.  We  don't  ask  you  to  come  to  any  gayety. 
It  is  a  quiet  house.  You  would  have  your  own  rooms ;  no  one 
should  disturb  you  when  you  wished  to  be  alone." 


DARKENED    DAYS.  367 

For  answer  Sabina  took  Janie's  hand  and  patted  it  a  little. 

"  You  have  always  been  so  kind  to  me,  I  never  could  under- 
stand why.  But  I  am  going  down  to  Buckinghamshire,  Janic," 
she  said. 

It  was  later  on  that  same  evening,  in  the  dead  silence  that  was 
broken  only  by  the  click  of  Janie's  needle,  that  Sabina  looked  up 
from  her  reveries  and  said, 

"  Janie,  there  is  one  thing  I  must  do  before  I  leave  this  place. 
I  must  say  something  to  Mr.  Lindsay  of  what  I  feel  towards  him 
for  all  his  goodness  to  me — his  generous  goodness  and  thought- 
fulness  and  kindness.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  say  it, 
but  I  must  try.  I  cannot  go  away  and  leave  him  to  think  me 
ungrateful." 

"  That  he  never  would  think,  nor  any  other  ill  of  you,  Sabie  1" 
Janie  said,  eagerly.  "  But  surely  you  are  right — surely  you  can 
do  no  less ;  and  a  word  from  you  would  be  a  great  deal  to  him," 
she  made  bold  to  add. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  know  when  he  will  be  here  again  ?"  was 
the  next  question. 

"No;  but  I  could  send  him  a  note,"  said  Janie,  promptly. 

"You  might  tell  hira  that  I  was  going  away,  and  that  I  wislied 
to  say  good-by,  if  it  would  not  be  too  much  trouble  for  him  to 
call  when  he  was  in  the  neighborhood." 

Janie's  nimble  brain  soon  fashioned  forth  a  better  scheme  than 
that,  though  she  kept  it  to  herself.  Could  she  not,  on  the  next 
morning,  find  some  pretence  for  slipping  out  and  make  her  way 
south  to  Burford  Bridge  by  one  of  the  early  trains?  A  few 
words  with  himself  would  be  of  greater  service  than  any  note; 
and  was  not  the  occasion  urgent?  Sabina  was  going  away.  She 
would  be  beyond  the  influences  she  had  known  ;  she  would  for- 
get; she  would  sink  into  apathy;  she  was  closing  the  book  of 
licr  life.  But  what  if,  at  such  a  juncture — and  she  was  helpless 
and  distraught  and  uncertain — some  sudden  appeal  were  made  to 
her?  It  seemed  dreadful  to  think  of  weddings  and  wedding- 
bells,  when  one  had  to  think,  too,  of  the  little  grave  lying  far 
away  there  amid  the  as  yet  unmelted  snow;  but,  short  of  that, 
might  not  some  vague  hint  be  given  her  that,  wherever  her  foot- 
steps might  lead  her,  there  would  always  remain  open  for  her  the 
refuge  of  a  strong  man's  love,  when  time  and  distance  liad  dulled 
the  edge  of  her  cruel  sorrows  ? 


368  SABINA   ZEMBKA. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

FAREWELL  WORDS. 

Yet  this  was  a  delicate  and  difficult  task  that  Janie  had  under- 
taken. She  could  not  forget  that  on  Walter  Lindsay's  return 
from  America  he  had  told  her  plainly  enough  that  any  relation- 
ship between  Sabina  and  himself  should  be  just  as  Sabina  wished 
it  to  be,  and  that  he  would  be  content  with  that,  nor  seek  for  any- 
thing more.  Also,  in  this  latter  time  of  trouble,  his  kindness 
towards  Sabina,  though  it  had  been  great  and  obvious  and  assid- 
uous, had  been  rather  the  kindness  of  an  affectionate  brother  or 
intimate  friend  assuming  the  right  to  do  things  for  her  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course.  There  had  been  none  of  the  sensitiveness  of  a 
lover  about  him.  Almost  there  had  been  a  trifle  too  much  au- 
thority. But  perhaps  the  occasion  did  not  permit  of  any  studi- 
ous refinements  of  manner;  and  Sabina,  at  least,  as  Janie  knew, 
had  taken  no  offence. 

However,  during  the  brief  journey  to  Burford  Bridge,  the 
more  Janie  looked  at  the  main  object  of  her  self-imposed  mission, 
tlie  less  she  liked  it.  She  began  to  grow  very  uncomfortable. 
It  was  too  great  a  responsibility.  At  last — and  with  a  consider- 
able sense  of  relief — she  resolved  to  throw  it  over  altogether;  she 
would  surely  deliver  Sabina's  message  ;  and  that,  she  knew,  would 
be  welcome.  Accordingly,  when  she  reached  the  hotel,  and  found 
that  Lindsay  had  already  gone  off  to  his  work,  she  made  no  scru- 
ple about  sending  for  him  ;  she  guessed  that  he  would  not  resent 
the  interruption. 

In  the  mean  time  she  began  to  look  round  these  bachelor 
quarters  with  not  a  little  curiosity.  She  half  expected  to  find 
some  portrait  or  photograph  of  Sabina — even  some  slight  pencil- 
drawing —  but  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  Apparently  he 
bad  brought  down  with  him  few  things  beyond  what  he  needed 
for  his  daily  toil.  A  volume  of  "  Volkslieder  "  stood  at  the  open 
piano,  and  there  were  some  loose  sheets  of  music  on  the  top. 
Hardly  any  books  were   about,  and  there  were  no  newspapers. 


FAREWELL   WORDS.  369 

Two  lari^e  portfolios  in  a  corner  no  doubt  contained  the  bulk  of 
his  drawings,  and  she  did  not  presume  to  open  tliese ;  but  on  the 
mantle-piece,  above  the  pipes  and  match-boxes  and  cards  of  invi- 
tation, and  also  at  the  back  of  the  piano,  were  a  number  of  more 
or  less  rough  sketches,  which  she  proceeded  to  examine  with  con- 
siderable interest,  for  she  wondered  what  he  could  find  in  such  a 
place  at  such  a  time  of  the  year.  And  it  may  be  said  that  Janie 
had  had  long  enough  training  in  the  art-world  to  appreciate  cer- 
tain qualities  as  distinct  from  the  mere  choice  of  a  subject.  In- 
complete as  most  of  these  drawings  were,  she  could  see  how  every- 
where the  painter  of  them  showed  himself  easy  master  of  his  own 
method;  she  understood  their  reticence,  their  simplicity,  their 
refinement,  scornful  of  perversity  or  whim  or  trick.  For  the  true 
artist  does  not  seek  to  astonish ;  his  work  has  reserve  and  repose; 
it  demands  study,  patience,  companionship ;  it  is  not  for  those 
who  choose  to  run  as  they  read.  The  Cook's  tourist  who  darts 
through  Venice  has  no  time  for  Titian's  "  Assumption ;"  but 
probably,  as  he  jumps  into  the  railway -carriage,  he  has  in  his 
pocket  a  number  of  the  Petit  Journal  pour  Hire;  and  every 
one  knows  what  a  gay  and  smart  piece  of  color  is  ordinarily  to  be 
found  on  the  outer  page  of  that  interesting  print. 

Janie  was  standing  there  in  the  room,  and  wishing  that  Phil 
would  for  a  little  vvhile  forsake  his  mysterious  and  allegorical  vir- 
gins to  paint  for  her  a  series  of  transcripts  of  the  outer  world  that 
she  could  hang  np  in  her  own  room  (that  he  could  do  so,  at  least 
in  a  measure,  she  never  doubted  ;  for  what  figuro-painter's  wife 
ever  believed  her  husband  incapable  of  painting  landscape  ?),  when 
Walter  Lindsay  made  his  appearance. 

"Pray  forgive  me  for  disturbing  you,"  she  said.  "  But  I  have 
a  message  from  Sabie."  She  thought  that  would  make  all  things 
smooth. 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  delighted  to  welcome  a  visitor — my  first  since  I 
came  here.  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  I  hope  the  message  is  nothing 
serious." 

*'  Oh  no,  not  at  all.  She  wanted  me  to  send  you  a  note  ;  but 
I  thought  I  might  come  along  and  tell  you — the  distance  is  so 
short.  Sable's  message  was  this — she  would  like  to  see  you  for  a 
few  minutes  any  time  you  could  make  it  convenient.  The  fiict 
is,  she  knows  how  kind  you  have  been  to  her  all  through  this 
terrible  trouble,  and  she  wants  to  thank  you — she  wants  to  as- 
IG* 


370  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

sure  you  she  is  not  ungrateful — and  so  will  you  come  and  see 
her  r 

"  It  is  quite  unnecessary,"  he  said.  "  If  I  can  be  of  any  service 
to  her,  I  will  2;o  at  once,  and  at  a  moment's  notice,  but  not  for  a 
trifle  of  this  kind.  She  has  other  things  to  think  of.  Tell  her 
the  message  she  has  sent  through  you  is  enough — and  more  than 
enough." 

"  But,  Mr.  Lindsay,  you  don't  understand  !"  Janie  cried.  "  Sa- 
ble is  going  away  !" 

There  was  a  sudden  hunp  in  Janie's  throat.  Almost  she  was 
on  the  point  of  blurting  out  some  iTicoherent  appeal — "  Mr.  Lind- 
say, are  you  in  love  with  her  still  ? — will  you  keep  Sabie  from  go- 
ing away  from  all  of  us  ?"  But  she  collected  herself.  She  had 
resolved  to  abstain  from  any  such  dangerous  interference.  She 
had  merely  to  give  him  Sabina's  message. 

"  Going  away  ?"  he  repeated,  vaguely.  "  Yes,  I  supposed  that 
would  come;  and  it  will  be  better  for  her.  Where  is  she  go- 
ing?" 

"  Away  down  to  Buckinghamshire — to  live  with  old  Mr.  Foster 
— and  we  shall  never  see  her  again!"  Janie  said.  "Fancy  her 
alone  there,  with  that  old  man  for  her  only  company.  Now,  if 
she  would  only  come  to  Kensington  Square,  where  her  friends 
could  see  her,  and  take  her  about  a  little,  and  keep  her  from  think- 
ing !  Or  if  she  would  come  to  live  with  us,  that  would  be  best 
of  all;  for  I  could  look  after  her  from  morning  till  night;  and 
Phil  would  be  delighted — I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  sate  to  him, 
for  she  is  so  awfully  good-natured ;  and  that  would  be  better  for 
his  work  than  having  those  scraggy  creatures  about.  You  might 
come  to  see  us  then,  Mr.  Lindsay,"  Janie  added,  looking  up  rather 
wistfully,  for  she  had  been  thinking  of  what  evenings  they  might 
have  together,  she  and  Phil,  and  Sabina  and  Lindsay,  when  all 
this  time  of  sorrow  had  gone  by. 

"  Oh,  she  is  going  down  into  Buckinghamshire  ?"  he  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  Well,  I  think  that  is  very  wise.  She  will  be 
better  alone  for  a  while.  It  is  too  soon  to  think  of  her  going 
among  friends.     When  does  she  go  ?" 

"  Almost  immediately,"  said  Janie,  who  was  disappointed  that 
be  took  Sabina's  departure  in  this  matter-of-fact  way.  "  As  soon 
as  she  can  leave  the  house  in  proper  charge — I  think  she  is  wait- 
ing to  hear  from  some  one.     But  she  is  very  reserved  about  all 


FAREWELL   "WORDS.  371 

lier  aiTangen'ients,  and  of  course  one  does  not  wish  to  worry  her 
with  questions  at  such  a  time.  She  says  she  is  tired.  Indeed, 
she  is  quite  worn  out,  mentally  and  pliysicall}',  and  so  listless 
she  does  not  seem  to  care  what  happens  to  lier.'' 

"That  will  all  come  right,"  he  said.  "She  has  a  strong  pliy- 
siqne.     Nature  will  work  its  own  cure." 

"This  is  the  first  time  she  has  shown  any  interest  in  anything 
outside  that  church-yard,"  Janie  said,  "  I  mean  in  her  anxiety  that 
you  should  know  she  was  grateful  to  you  for  all  you  had  done 
for  her." 

Janie  looked  at  him  with  almost  appealing  eyes.  But  he  mere- 
ly said, 

"  Please  tell  her  not  to  bother  about  tliat,  I  understand  per- 
fectly.   Her  message  througli  you  is  enough — more  than  enough." 

"Mr.  Lindsay,  when  Sabina  asks  you  to  come  and  see  her,  you 
are  not  going  to  refuse  ?" 

"  Oh,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  certainly  not.  I  will  come  and 
see  her,  if  she  wishes ;  I  only  meant  that  it  was  not  worth  while 
bothering  about  such  a  trifle." 

"  She  does  not  consider  it  a  trifle.  Of  course,"  added  Janie, 
■with  a  little  hesitation,  "  I  had  hoped,  if  3'ou  came  along,  that  you 
■would  help  me  to  persuade  Sabie  not  to  go  away  into  Bucking- 
hamshire. It  seems  a  pity  she  should  separate  herself  from  her 
friends  just  when  she  stands  in  most  need  of  them.  And  she  has 
suffered  a  great  deal  during  these  past  years.  I  think  they  would 
be  willing  to  try  to  make  it  up  to  her  a  little.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  we  might  try  to  get  her  to  look  more  like  the  Sabie  we  used 
to  know." 

"  Time  may  do  that — but  not  any  of  us,"  lie  said. 

"  Couldn't  one  help  ?"  said  the  faithful  Janie.  "  But,  of  course, 
if  it  is  your  opinion  that  she  should  go  away,  there  is  no  more  to 
be  said.  I  thought  you  would  have  been  the  first  to  ask  iier  to 
stay." 

"  I  tliink  her  own  instinct  is  riglit,"  he  said,  "  And  it  isn't  as 
if  she  were  going  away  to  some  distant  country,  never  to  return. 
Some  day  you  will  find  Sabina  in  Lon(hin  again,  when  she  will  bo 
better  able  to  face  the  sympathy  of  friends." 

"  And  will  you  be  there,  then  ?" 

"Oh,  most  likely.     Why  not?" 

"With  a  little  sigh  Janie  rose  to  go. 


372  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  When  shall  I  come  along  to  see  her?"  he  asked. 

"Whatever  tirae  is  most  convenient.     This  evening?" 
.     "  Yes." 

"  Very  well.     Until  then,  good-by." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  not  go  like  that,"  said  he.  "  If  this  isn't  a 
Scotch  house,  this  is  a  Scotchman's  lodging.  Let  me  see — I  can't 
offer  you  tea  or  wine  at  this  hour  of  the  day — and  I  haven't  any 
confections — " 

He  was  looking  round  the  room. 

"  Oh  yes,  this  will  do,"  he  said,  and  he  fetched  one  of  the  big 
portfolios  and  threw  it  open  on  the  table.  "  Take  a  sketch  with 
you.     Choose  one  for  yourself." 

"Mr.  Lindsay,  I  cannot,  really!"  Janie  protested.  "They  are 
too  valuable." 

"You  must  not  leave  the  place  empty-handed." 

Janie  hesitated.  She  could  see  that  these  drawings  were  much 
more  important  and  finished  studies  than  those  lying  about  the 
room. 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  she,  "  I  was  wishing  before 
you  came  in  that  Phil  could  make  me  some  landscape  sketches  for 
my  own  little  room  at  home — that  would  meet  one's  eyes  every 
morning,  and  always  with  a  fresh  delight — and  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  which  of  all  those  beautiful  things  it  was  that  chiefly  pro- 
voked my  envy — " 

She  went  to  the  piano  and  selected  one  of  the  drawings  there. 
It  was  a  simple  little  study  of  evening  light,  a  wan  glare  in  the 
western  heavens,  that  repeated  in  a  wet  road ;  between,  a  strip  of 
dusky  hill,  with  a  black  wood  at  its  base. 

"That  one!"  he  said.  "There  is  not  much  in  that.  But  it 
will  do  to  begin  the  little  collection  for  your  boudoir.  Tell  Mas- 
ter Phil  to  levy  contributions  all  round  and  then  we  will  have  a 
consultation  some  day  about  having  them  framed  in  a  scries." 

lie  got  a  couple  of  pieces  of  board  and  made  up  a  small  parcel 
for  her;  and  then  he  accompanied  her  to  the  door,  where,  with 
renewed  thanks  to  him,  she  left.  But  Janie  would  have  been 
pleased  if,  instead  of  this  beautiful  little  gem  of  a  water-color,  she 
had  taken  with  her  some  assurance  or  hope  that  that  evening  he 
was  coming  along  to  ask  Sabina  to  let  him  provide  for  her,  at 
least,  a  safe  and  happy  home. 

It  was  later  than  he  had  intended  when  he  reached  Witstead, 


FAEEWELL    WORDS.  375 

for  he  had  walked,  and  there  were  some  twilight  effects  that  had 
caused  hira  to  linger  by  the  way.  He  had  convinced  himself  that 
it  was  without  perturbation  that  he  was  about  to  bid  farewell  to 
Sabina.  As  she  would  probably  be  in  a  nervous  and  depressed 
and  emotional  state,  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  have  plenty  of 
firmness  on  his  side.  He  should  make  the  parting  easy  for  her, 
and  would  take  care  to  cut  short  this  formal  business  of  thanks- 
giving. 

When  he  entered  the  room  Sabina  rose  to  receive  him,  and 
came  forward  a  step  or  two.  There  were  sudden  tears  in  her 
eyes ;  she  gave  him  a  trembling  hand  ;  she  could  not  speak.  But 
happily  Janie  was  there  ;  and  presently,  when  he  had  taken  a  seat, 
he  and  Janie  found  themselves  talking  about  all  kinds  of  indiffer- 
ent things,  and,  among  others,  of  the  little  picture,  for  carrying  off 
which  Janie  was  now  making  abundant  apologies. 

"  But  that  is  one  of  the  privileges  of  a  painter,"  he  said.  "  If 
only  his  friends  think  the  thing  worth  hanging  up,  it  serves  tore- 
call  hira  to  their  memory  now  and  again,  when  he  may  be  half  a 
world  away.     It  is  purchasing  remembrance  at  a  cheap  rate." 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  cheapness  of  the  rate,"  said  Janie. 
"I  know  Phil  will  be  horribly  angry  with  me  for  having  robbed 
you  of  such  a  beautiful  sketch." 

"But  sometimes  one  doesn't  need  any  such  help  to  the  mem- 
ory," Sabina  said,  in  a  rather  low  voice. 

Janie  now  said  she  would  go  and  ask  Mrs.  Rcid  to  let  them 
have  some  tea.  She  did  so,  but  she  did  not  come  back.  She 
went  into  the  dining-room,  and  lit  a  candle  and  sate  down  there — 
with  her  heart  beating  a  little. 

Just  as  she  left,  a  look  of  fright  passed  into  Sabina's  eyes;  but 
that  was  for  the  briefest  second ;  she  seemed  to  nerve  herself  for 
this  interview.  Why?  he  asked  himself.  He  had  no  wish  for 
any  fonnal  expression  of  thanks. 

"Mr.  Lindsay,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  "Janie  says 
she  told  you  why  I  wanted  you  to  come  here  this  evening — " 

"  And  I  told  her  how  unnecessary  it  was,"  he  said,  interrupting 
her.  "  I  see  you  are  embarrassed  at  tliis  moment.  Why  should 
that  be  so?  These  things  arc  better  understood  than  expressed. 
What  mortal  creature  could  be  so  inhuman  as  not  to  do  what  lit- 
tle he  could  at  such  a  time  ?     It  is  not  worth  speaking  about." 

"  Ah,  do  not  say  so !"  she  exclaimed,  and  for  a  moment  she 


374  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

looked  up  and  reo-arded  him  with  her  sofl  and  gentle  and  grief- 
worn  eyes.  "  I  will  never  forget  it — never — never — through  all 
the  years  I  may  live — and  my  gratitude  to  you  will  be  always  the 
same,  and  will  remain  ever  with  me,  even  if  I  am  not  allowed  to 
call  you  friend." 

He  was  amazed  and  bewildered. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?"  he  cried. 

"There  was  something  else  I  meant  to  have  told  you,"  she 
said,  with  a  tired  look  on  her  face.  "  I  have  been  trying  all  the 
afternoon  to  bring  myself  to  it  before  going  away.  But  I  cannot 
do  it.     I  am  not  very  strong  just  now — and — and — " 

Her  hands  fell  listlessly  in  her  lap. 

"  I  am  sure  I  would  not  ask  you  to  tell  me  anything  that 
would  cause  you  pain,"  he  said.  "  If  I  had  known  there  was 
any  possibility  of  such  a  thing,  I  would  not  have  come  here  this 
evening." 

"  But  you  will  have  to  be  told,"  she  said,  with  a  further  effort. 
"I  will  write.  I  will  write  to  Janie.  She  will  explain  to  you. 
And  I  think  Janie  will  forgive  me,  but  you  won't.  You  are  a 
man  ;  you  will  take  a  man's  view.  And  this  is  all  I  ask  of  you 
— when  you  find  how  weak  and  foolish  and  wicked  I  have  been — 
when  you  say  that  I  am  no  longer  fit  to  be  called  your  friend — '* 

"I  never  will,  so  help  me  God  !"  he  said ;  but  she  went  on,  un- 
heeding, 

"  All  I  ask  is  this,  that,  though  we  should  never  meet  again  in 
this  world,  or,  if  we  should  meet — well,  perhaps  you  would  pass 
me  by  as  a  strangei" — but  what  I  ask  is,  that  if  ever  you  should 
think  of  me,  you  will  believe  that  I  have  not  ceased,  that  I  never 
will  cease,  to  remember  your  goodness  to  me  at  the  darkest  time 
of  my  life." 

Her  lips  quivered  for  a  moment.  As  for  him,  he  was  stricken 
dumb.  Some  wild  fancy  flashed  through  his  brain  that  he  would 
ask  her  if  she  did  not  know  that  his  very  existence  was  hers,  to 
be  done  with  as  she  chose;  that  faith  in  the  beauty  and  nobility 
of  her  womanhood  was  as  necessary  to  him  as  sunlight  and  the 
skies  of  heaven ;  that,  no  matter  what  sorrows  or  secret  troubles 
might  be  surrounding  her,  he  was  ready  to  take  her  by  the  hand 
and  lead  her  home,  as  sister,  or  friend,  or  wife.  But  how  was  he 
to  speak  words  of  love,  with  the  fresh-made  little  grave  still  pres- 
ent to  his  mind  ?     Was  that  the  comfort  he  could  offer  to  the  be- 


FAREWELL   WORDS.  375 

reft  mother  ?  She  was  safe  in  the  sanctity  of  her  grief — thougli 
his  heart  bled  for  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  an  absent  air,  "  I  have  been  looking  at  it 
every  way,  and  I  am  prepared  for  that,  and  deserve  it.  You  will 
say  that  I  deceived  you,  and  that  I  accepted  all  your  kindness  un- 
der false  pretences.  Janie  will  understand  a  little — the  terror  I 
was  in  when  my  darling  was  taken  ill — how  thankful  I  was  to 
any  one  who  would  help  me — I  had  no  time  to  think — I  cared 
only  for  the  saving  of  my  little  boy's  life — " 

Here  she  broke  down  altogether,  and  quickly  rose  and  went  sob- 
bing from  the  room.  When  she  returned,  a  little  time  thereafter, 
he  said, 

"  Of  course,  I  cannot  imagine  what  you  mean,  and  I  don't  press 
for  any  explanation.  I  am  content  to  wait.  I  am  content  to  wait 
because  I  know  that  nothing  you  can  say  will  alter  the  relations 
between  you  and  me.  Of  that  I  am  as  certain  as  that  I  am  here 
at  this  moment.  IIow  can  I  have  anything  to  forgive — or  to 
overlook,  either?  It  is  impossible.  And  supposing  there  was 
such  a  thing — which,  I  say  again,  is  impossible — do  you  think 
that  the  judgment  of  a  woman  by  a  man  is  harsher  than  the  judg- 
ment of  another  woman  ?  I  don't  think  so.  I  think  you  would 
find  a  man  quite  as  forgiving  as  a  woman.  Of  course  that  is  all 
in  the  air.  You  have  no  forgiveness  to  seek  from  me — it  is  out 
of  the  question.  But  when  you  speak  of  friendship,  that  is  differ- 
ent. I  hope,  as  long  as  you  and  I  are  alive,  tliat,  at  least,  will  ex- 
ist between  us.     Nothing  may  arise  to  show  the  measure  of  it — " 

"  As  if  you  had  not  proved  that  already  !"  she  said. 

"  But  there  it  is,  and  always  will  be.  I  pledge  you  my  word — 
and  tny  hand." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  lier ;  she  took  it,  and,  stooping 
her  head,  touched  it  with  her  lips. 

"  God  bless  you  for  what  you  have  done  for  me  in  my  time  of 
agony,"  she  managed  to  say. 

"  And  do  not  forget  what  I  have  pledged  you — no  matter  what 
you  may  write  to  Janie,"  was  his  answer. 

Mrs.  Rcid  came  in  with  the  tea-things,  and  Janie  followed. 
Tlieir  talk  was  chiefly  al)()ut  Sabina's  going  away,  the  journey 
down  to  Missenden,  and  so  forth.  Janie  showed  him  a  gold  pen- 
cil which  Sabina  was  going  to  give  as  a  souvenir  to  Mrs.  Reid 
(who  had  flatly  refused  the  offer  of  a  present  in  money,  following 


376  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

the  instructions  of  her  master);  and  Lindsa}',  as  he  bade  good-by 
to  these  two  friends,  and  was  setting  forth  to  return  to  his  solitary 
lodging,  could  hardly  help  reflecting  that  the  old  Scotch  house- 
keeper was  to  be  the  lucky — and  probably  indifferent — owner  of 
a  trinket  which  he  would  have  valued  at  a  thousand  pounds  and 
more,  if  Sabina  had  given  it  to  him  of  her  own  free  accord. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

A  REVELATION. 

He  was  so  preoccupied  with  his  own  thoughts  on  leaving  the 
house  that  he  almost  ran  against  a  man  who  came  up  to  the  little 
gate  just  as  he  was  opening  it. 

"  Holloa,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?"  the  stranger  said,  in  surly 
and  semi-drunken  tones. 

He  did  not  recognize  the  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  like  this  !  I  think  this  is  pretty  cool !  What  are  you 
coming  about  here  for?" 

Lindsay's  first  impulse  was  to  seize  the  fellow  by  the  neck  and 
kick  him  into  the  middle  of  the  road ;  and  undoubtedly  that  was 
what  would  have  happened,  but  that  the  man  staggered  forward  a 
step,  bringing  his  face  more  into  the  faint  light  sent  along  from  a 
lamp  at  the  corner.  Then  a  flash  of  horror  went  through  Lind- 
say's frame,  striking  him  motionless,  stupefying  him,  and  leaving 
him  only  with  the  instinctive  determination  to  bar  the  way  against 
this  drunken  wretch's  entrance  into  Sabina's  home.  That  was  all  he 
could  think  of;  there  was  no  time  to  readjust  other  matters  in 
his  own  mind;  how  to  get  this  man  away  quietly — that  was  the 
immediate  thing. 

"  I  should  think  you  had  a  longer  story  to  tell  than  I  have," 
Lindsay  said,  with  an  affectation  of  good-humor.  "  Come,  let  us 
go  over  to  the  Checkers  and  have  a  drink." 

"  The  Checkers  ?  Not  L  I'm  a  dead  man."  Then  he  added, 
with  a  bit  of  a  guttural  laugh,  "But  it  would  be  worth  a  fiver  to 
walk  in,  all  the  same.  Wouldn't  old  Mother  What's-her-name 
shriek?     Wouldn't  her  ribbons  stand  on  end?" 

The  case  was  growing  desperate;  for  the  women  within  might 


A   EEVELATION.  377 

hear  this  talking  at  the  gate.  And  if  drink  would  not  entice  him 
away,  what  would  ?  Of  a  sudden  Lindsay  remembered  what  Janie 
had  told  him  as  to  the  ordinary  motive  of  Foster's  visits  hither, 

"  What  have  you  come  back  for?     Money  ?" 

"  What's  that  to  you  ?"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  return  to  his 
sulky  manner.  *'  And  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  That's  what  I 
want  to  know." 

"Because,  if  it  was  money,  I  would  lend  you  a  hundred  or  two 
— if  you  knew  of  a  good  horse  to  back." 

Foster  hesitated. 

"  Walk  down  to  the  station  with  me,  and  we  will  talk  it  over," 
Lindsay  put  in,  dexterously ;  and  then  he  passed  out,  quietly 
shutting  the  gate,  and  the  two  men  set  out  along  the  dark  road. 

"  Money  from  you  ?''  Foster  said,  with  a  mock  assumption  of 
dignity.  "  No.  I  can  make  money  for  myself.  What  do  you 
take  me  for?  What  do  I  want  with  your  money?  But  I  won't 
bear  any  malice.  You  were  a  kind  of  sweetheart  of  my  wife's 
before  she  married,  weren't  you  ?  Oh,  well,  that's  all  right.  And 
she's  all  right.  Caesar's  wife — above  suspicion — that's  all  right. 
But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  for  you — I'll  put  you  on  to  a  real 
good  thing — been  a  moral  ever  since  the  weights  were  out.  I 
wonder  at  you  fellows  who  have  money  and  get  no  fun  for  it. 
What's  yours  in  ?  Consols,  I  suppose.  Ground-rents  and  rubbish 
of  that  kind — buried  in  a  grave.  Well,  you  give  me  the  two 
hundred,  three  hundred,  five  hundred,  what  you  like;  and  you'll 
just  see  something  on  the  17th  of  March  next.  It's  Wednesday, 
the  17th  of  March,  that's  got  to  make  a  man  of  me.  I've  been 
under  a  cloud  long  enough.  I'm  going  to  emerge  then — emerge 
is  the  word — in  splendor.  Then  she  can  make  it  up  with  Sir 
Anthony.  If  she  doesn't,  I  don't  care,  I  shall  have  made  him 
serve  my  turn — and  he  may  kick  up  any  shindy  he  likes — it  won't 
hurt  me — " 

Lindsay  let  him  babble  on  in  this  way  almost  unheeded ;  ho 
was  busy  with  his  own  rapid  plans.  For  if  only  he  could  carry 
Foster  up  to  London  with  him,  there  and  then,  lie  could  get  Sa- 
bina  to  set  out  forthwith  for  Jiuckinghamshire,  where  she  would 
be  safe  from  persecution.  That  she  knew  that  Foster  was  alive 
he  did  not  doubt ;  clearly  that  was  the  story  she  had  to  toll  to 
Janie.  Of  course,  it  was  all  a  mystery  to  him  as  yet;  the  one 
definite  thing  before  him  was  to  try  to  give  her  the  chance  of 


378  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

reaching  some  haven  of  shelter.  Nor  did  it  occur  to  him  that  he 
was  assuming  a  remarkably  bold  and  unusual  responsibility  in 
thus  interposing  to  keep  separate  husband  and  wife.  For  one 
thing,  he  had  had  no  time  to  reflect.  It  came  naturally  to  him 
to  think  of  Sabina  first ;  she  was  to  be  guarded  whatever  else 
happened.  And,  for  another  thing,  he  hardly  considered  the 
creature  beside  hirn  to  be  a  man  at  all — certainly  not  one  whose 
■wishes,  projects,  or  affairs  could  be  regarded  as  of  any  account 
wliatever,  so  long,  at  least,  as  he  could  be  kept  out  of  the  way. 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  the  clear  starlight  just  enabling  him  to 
make  out  the  time. 

"That's  bad  luck.     Just  missed  it!"  he  said. 

"Missed  what?"  his  companion  said,  vaguely. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  see,  as  this  transaction  may  be  a  big  thing,  and 
as  I  know  next  to  nothing  of  racing  matters,  I  thought  you  might 
have  run  up  to  town  with  me,  and  had  a  bit  of  dinner  somewhere, 
to  talk  it  over.  But  wait  a  moment — I  have  not  heard  the  train 
pass — perhaps  it's  late — come  along,  we  may  catch  it  yet." 

He  did  not  wait  for  the  other's  consent;  and  Foster's  mind 
■was  too  concentrated  on  the  prospect  of  getting  this  money  to 
perceive  that  he  was  being  hurried  off  to  London  in  spite  of  him- 
self. 

"Yes,  there  she  comes !"  Lindsay  cried  —  having  just  caught 
sight  of  a  red  flare  coming  rapidly  through  the  darkness.  "  Hur- 
ry up  ! — we  shall  just  do  it." 

He  had  but  a  second  in  which  to  get  his  tickets;  then  he  no- 
ticed that  as  Foster  quickly  crossed  the  platform,  he  held  his 
handkerchief  to  his  face ;  the  next  moment  these  two  were  in  a 
railway-carriage,  by  themselves,  on  their  way  to  London. 

Perhaps  this  hurried  rush  had  sobered  Foster  a  little. 

"I  say,  what's  all  this  about?"  he  said,  rather  angrily,  and  as  if 
he  were  awaking  out  of  a  stupor.  "  What's  the  use  of  going  to 
London  ?  I  didn't  come  down  here  to  go  right  back  to  London 
— like  a  fool.  I  wanted  explanations — oh  yes,  I  can  tell  you  I 
mean  to  have  matters  cleared  up  now.  It  was  all  very  well  when 
1  was  over  at  Nice — good  excuse  getting  no  letters — but  that  won't 
do  now.     Look  here,  what  is  the  good  of  rushing  away  like  this  ?'* 

And  then  he  seemed  to  try  to  pull  himself  together. 

"  Oh  yes.  The  money.  That's  business.  It's  business  if  you 
mean  business — " 


A   KEVELATIOlSr.  379 

"  Of  course,  I  want  to  talk  it  over,"  Lindsay  said.  "  That's 
but  natural." 

"  Don't  you  expect  me  to  blab,"  Foster  said,  with  a  gleam  of 
cunning  in  the  bedazzled  eyes.  "I  know  when  I've  had  an  extra 
drink.  It  was  after  the  long  journey — and  the  beastly  cold — and 
some  of  the  boys  were  about  last  night.  But  I  don't  blab.  No 
horse's  name  will  pass  my  lips,  not  though  I  was  blind.  A  fine 
thing  you  would  make  of  it,  rushing  into  the  open  market,  and 
bawling  the  animal's  name  all  over  the  place.  If  you  want  the 
thing  done  on  the  quiet,  then  you  must  trust  to  me.  There's 
more  in  it  than  you  think — it's  a  great  game  that's  being  played 
— you  stand  in  with  us — you  won't  regret  it — casting  your  bread 
upon  the  waters,  that's  what  it  is — " 

The  last  sentences  had  been  mumbled  ;  then  he  turned  his  head 
to  the  corner,  and  almost  directly  was  fast  asleep. 

And  now  Lindsay  had  time  to  think  of  Sabina,  and  of  himself, 
and  of  certain  wistful  hopes  that  had  been  thus  rudely  dispelled. 
Many  things  were  now  clear  enough  to  him — especially  the  cold- 
ness with  which  she  had  received  him  on  his  first  visit  to  Wit- 
stead.  It  was  the  sudden  peril  of  her  child  that  had  startled  her 
out  of  that  repellent  attitude;  she  was  glad  to  have  his  help  in 
her  time  of  sore  need;  nor  had  she  shown  herself  ungrateful. 
But  what  could  Sabina  mean  by  saying  that,  when  he  knew  every- 
thing, he  would  probably  consider  her  as  no  longer  fit  to  be  his 
friend — that  he  would  pass  her  by  as  a  stranger?  That  was  so 
very  likely  !  Even  supposing  that  she  had  lent  herself  a  party  to 
this  deception — well,  doubtless  she  had  sufficient  reasons.  IIow 
had  he  suffered  by  it?  He  had  nothing  to  forgive.  If  he  had 
known  that  Foster  was  alive,  he  would  have  been  every  wiiit  as 
glad  and  eager  to  be  of  every  possible  service  to  her,  for  her  own 
sake.  It  was  not  as  her  lover  that  he  brought  down  flowers  for 
the  little  grave.  It  was  not  as  her  lover  that  he  was  now  carrying 
off  this  semi-drunken  creature  to  London,  to  give  her  time  to  es- 
cape into  Buckinghamshire. 

As  for  himself — well,  that  did  not  much  matter.  He  had  grown 
accustomed  to  think  that  life  was  rather  a  disappointing  kind  of 
thing,  a  useless  kind  of  thing.  But  the  meetings  of  the  Monks 
of  St.  Giles,  in  the  New  York  hotel,  were  amusing.  And  some 
one  there  had  told  him  that  the  coast  of  New  Granada  offered 
some  striking  material   for  the  landscape-painter.     Perhaps  ho 


380  SABIXA   ZEMBRA, 

could  get  one  or  two  companions  to  make  a  small  party  of  explo- 
ration ?  Anyhow,  a  trip  across  the  Atlantic  would  be  a  break,  and 
the  evenings  in  the  smoking-roorn  were  snug,  with  the  humors  of 
the  merry  bagmen,  in  their  playing  of  poker,  or  getting  up  of  raffles. 

Then  he  came  back  to  his  unconscious  companion,  and  fell  to 
■wondering  how  a  wretched  rag  of  existence  like  this  could  hold 
any  power  of  terrorism  over  such  a  woman  as  Sabina.  That  ho 
had  frightened  her  into  concealing  the  fact  of  his  being  alive  was 
pretty  evident;  though  towards  what  end  Lindsay  could  not  im- 
agine. Sabina,  who  used  to  be  so  resolute  and  independent  and 
full  of  happy  audacity,  to  be  overmastered  and  subjugated  by  a 
weakling  like  this  !  Why,  now,  how  easy  it  would  be  to  take 
him  up  and  throw  him  out  of  the  window  !  Who  would  be  any 
the  worse  ?  The  world  would  be  the  gainer.  Of  course,  they  would 
call  it  murder;  and  murder  is  not  a  thing  that  a  well-regulated 
person  ought  to  contemplate,  only  whimsical  fancies  sometimes 
come  unbidden  into  the  head.  On  the  other  hand,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  stories  Janie  had  told  him,  he  could  almost  have  felt 
some  compunction  for  this  poor  wretch,  who  looked  so  horribly 
ill.  Nor  was  there  anything  in  his  appearance  to  suggest  that  he 
was  merely  suffering  from  the  consequences  of  a  drinking-bout. 
Indeed,  the  curiously  bedazzled  look  of  the  eyes — which  Lindsay 
had  noticed  before  his  companion  went  to  sleep — and  the  pale 
and  hollow  cheeks  now  visible  in  the  dull  light  of  the  lamp,  seemed 
to  speak  rather  of  the  use  of  some  poisonous  drug  than  of  drink. 
In  any  case  Lindsay,  who  had  been  forming  his  own  plans,  as  he 
sate  and  looked  at  this  poor  creature,  did  not  anticipate  any  formi- 
dable antagonism — beyond,  possibly,  the  ebullitions  of  fractious 
temper;  and  he  was  quite  prepared  to  humor  these. 

When  they  got  to  Waterloo  station,  Foster  woke  up,  looking 
dazed  and  stupid  and  helpless.     Lindsay  called  a  hansom. 

"  Wait  a  minute — I  must  have  a  B.  and  S.,"  the  former  said. 

"  Nonsense,  man — just  before  dinner — you  will  blow  your  head 
off !" 

"I  know  what'll  put  me  straight,"  he  said,  as  Lindsay  followed 
him  into  the  refreshment- room  to  keep  an  eye  on  him. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  imagine  I  drink.  I  don't.  I  couldn't  afford  it. 
I've  got  ray  living  to  earn — somehow.  But  my  nerve  isn't  what 
it  used  to  be.  How  could  you  expect  it?  A  run  of  bad  luck  like 
mine  would  ruin  anybody's  nerve ;   because,  of  course,  you  get 


A   KETELATION.  381 

anxious  to  make  the  most  of  a  cliance  when  it  comes  in  your  way. 
AViiy,  at  tlie  pigeon-shooting  match  at  Monaco  the  other  day,  I 
shouhl  l)ave  been  in  third  for  the  chainpionsliip  if  I  had  only 
steadied  myself  with  a  good  stiif  brandy-and-soda  before  the  last 
shot.  A  horrible  miss — because  I  was  in  a  ghastly  funk,  I  sup- 
pose.    Well,  here's  better  luck!" 

Now  the  effect  of  this  drink  was  speedily  apparent  in  an  unex- 
pected way.  He  ceased  those  wandering  confidences  to  one  who 
was  almost  a  stranger  to  him  ;  he  became  quite  watchful  and 
wide-awake ;  by  the  time  tlicy  had  reached  the  Gayety  restaurant, 
and  secured  a  private  room  there,  and  when  he  had  made  a  plen- 
tiful use  of  cold  water  in  the  lavatory,  he  appeared  to  have  shaken 
off  his  stupefaction  altogether.  In  the  mean  time  Lindsay  had 
withdrawn  for  a  few  moments  to  send  oflE  a  couple  of  telegrams 
• — one  to  his  house-keeper's  substitute  at  Notting  Ilill ;  the  other 
to  Janie,  begging  her  to  see  that  Sabina  set  out  at  once  for  Buck- 
inghamshire, and  to  retain  Mrs.  Keid  at  Witstead. 

"  So  you  have  been  on  the  Riviera  ?"  he  said  to  Foster,  when 
he  returned  to  the  room. 

And  now  he  perceived  that  Foster  was  regarding  him  in  a 
scrutinizing  way — as  if,  for  the  first  time,  he  was  realizing  how 
he  came  to  be  in  a  restaurant  in  Loudon,  with  a  former  rival  as 
his  host. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  said,  with  affected  carelessness.  "There  was 
plenty  going  on  there.  Steeple-chasing  at  Nice — pigeon-shoot- 
ing—" 

"  And  the  tables  at  Monte  Carlo  ?" 

"  No,"  Foster  said,  coldly.  "  I  am  not  such  an  ass.  Of  course, 
if  I  had  plenty  of  money  I  should  enjoy  an  occasional  plunge; 
but  the  percentage  against  you  is  a  kind  of  mechanical  thing  that 
there's  no  use  fighting.  The  truth  is,  I  went  to  Nice  as  a  kind  of 
business  trip.  There's  some  one  there  who  is  a  partner  of  mine 
— at  least  she's  in  the  same  swim  ;  and  I  had  to  go  and  see  her." 

And  then  he  looked  still  more  scrutinizingly  at  Lindsay. 

"  I  say,  my  good  friend,  liow  did  you  come  to  be  at  Witstead 
this  evening  ?'' 

"  My  good  friend,  as  you  put  it,  that  is  a  very  odd  question," 
Lindsay  observed;  and  lie  met  the  other's  look  with  one  that 
plainly  said  "Utter  a  word  of  suspicion,  and  I'll  fell  you."  It 
was  an  odil  position  for  two  men  who  were  just  about  to  sit  down 


382  SABINA   ZEMBRA, 

to  dine  with  each  other.  "  Still,  if  you  wish  to  know,  I  happened 
to  pay  an  afternoon  call.  My  headquarters  at  present  are  at 
Biirford  Bridge — I  am  painting  there.  I  have  been  a  good  deal 
over  at  Witstead  during  tins  time  of  trouble — where  one  might 
have  expected  to  find  you,  I  think.  However,  you  may  have  had 
your  reasons  for  remaining  away  ;  but  when  I  called  on  Janie  and 
Mrs.  Foster  this  afternoon,  imagining  that  Mrs.  Foster  was  a  wid- 
ow and  not  a  wife — though  I  should  have  called  in  any  case,  and, 
I  hope,  parted  good  friends  with  her — still,  if  there  was  any  mis- 
take, you  know  where  the  blame  lies." 

He  spoke  very  clearly :  here,  evidently,  was  a  man  who  did  not 
mean  to  be  bullied.  Foster  mumbled  out  something  about  the 
folly  of  taking  a  simple  question  seriously ;  and  at  this  moment 
the  waiter  appeared,  bringing  in  the  soup. 

"  Now  to  business,"  said  Foster,  who  apparently  had  become 
quite  sober,  though  there  was  still  a  curious,  half-bewildered  look 
in  his  eyes.  "  I  tell  you  I  have  a  good  thing — how  much  do  you 
propose  to  put  into  it  ?" 

"  That  would  depend  on  the  inducement — and  on  the  reasonable 
safety  of  it,"  was  the  very  unsportsmanlike  answer. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  i-easonable  safety,"  Foster 
said,  peevishly.  "  We're  not  talking  about  Bank  of  England 
shares;  we're  talking  about  racing.  If  the  thing  was  an  absolute 
certainty,  where  would  you  get  the  odds?  Do  you  mean  business 
or  not? — or  have  I  come  away  up  here  on  a  wild-goose  chase?" 

"  I  hope  not;  but  I  want  to  know  a  little  more  clearly  how  the 
land  lies,"  said  Lindsay — who  really  was  considering  what  excuse 
could  be  made  for  detaining  him  in  town. 

"  I  won't  tell  you  the  name  of  the  horse." 

"  It  would  be  no  use  to  me  if  you  did." 

"I  will  tell  you  the  race  if  you  like — the  Lincolnshire  Handi- 
cap, l7th  March — there  you  are;  and  there  you  will  be,  landing 
a  pile,  if  you  stand  in  with  us.  But  we  want  the  money  now, 
when  we  can  get  good  prices ;  and  I  will  fairly  tell  you  that  the 
game  is  to  be  played  on  the  principle  of  no  questions  asked. 
That's  honest  now.  That's  your  risk.  And  I  won't  promise  you 
that,  if  the  horse  wins,  you  will  be  paid  the  odds  you  would  find 
quoted  in  the  market  at  this  present  moment.  What  would  con- 
tent you  now  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  Lindsay  said,  "  for  I  am  quite  in  the 


A   BEVEL ATIOX.  383 

dark  in  such  matters.  But  that  would  make  it  all  the  more  siui- 
ple — I  mean  if  I  went  in  at  all,  I  should  go  into  it  as  a  pure  gam- 
ble, and  leave  the  whole  thing  to  you.  If  I  attempted  to  hedo-e, 
or  anything  of  that  kind,  I  should  doubtless  make  a  complete  mess 
of  it.  No,  I  am  inclined  to  go  in  blindfold;  or,  rather,  I  am 
inclined  to  let  you  go  in  for  me." 

"  To  what  tune  ?" 

"  I  shoiMd  want  a  little  time  about  that.  Where  could  I  see 
you  to-morrow  ?" 

"  I  will  call  on  you  any  hour  you  like.  It  will  be  two  hundred, 
anyway  ?" 

Lindsay  hesitated.  He  knew  quite  well  that  it  was  as  likely  as 
not  he  would  never  see  a  farthing  of  his  money  again — he  had 
seen  too  often  in  his  life  the  result  of  these  "good  things"  and 
"  morals."  But  it  was  necessary  that  the  inducement  hung  before 
Foster's  eyes  to  keep  him  in  town  for  perhaps  several  days  should 
be  sufficiently  large.  Two  hundred  pounds? — it  seemed  a  pity  to 
throw  it  away.  Then  he  thought  of  Sabina,  safe  in  the  shelter  of 
the  old  man's  house  down  in  Buckinghamshire.  And  he  had  no 
kith  or  kin  of  his  own. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  can  guarantee  two  hundred,"  he  said.  "Give 
me  your  address,  and  I  will  telegraph  to  you  to-morrow  when  to 
come  and  see  me,  if  you  can  make  it  convenient.  I  suppose  you 
will  be  in  town  all  day." 

Foster  pencilled  his  address  on  an  envelope,  and  Lindsay  put  it 
in  his  pocket.  For  that  next  day,  at  all  events,  there  was  secu- 
rity. 

Thereafter,  during  the  course  of  the  little  banquet,  Fred  Foster 
endeavored  to  make  himself  very  amiable,  perhaps  out  of  gratitude 
for  this  promise  of  money.  He  ate  next  to  nothing,  and  drank 
very  little  ;  but  the  little  he  did  drink  had  an  effect  on  him  that 
Lindsay  could  not  in  the  least  understand.  He  relapsed  into  his 
maundering  garrulity,  and  then  grew  comatose  ;  and  liually  got  up 
and  said  that  as  he  had  suffered  terribly  from  sleeplessness  of  late, 
and  now  felt  tliat  he  could  drop  off  at  once,  he  would  go  straight 
home  and  go  to  bed.  Lindsay  was  not  loath  to  see  him  depart; 
probably  no  two  more  ill-assorted  comrades  ever  sate  down  atone 
table  toiicther.     And  then  he  also  went  home. 


384  SABINA   ZEMBKA. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

CONSPIRATORS.  * 

Lindsay  did  not  sleep  well  that  night;  and  next  morning  he 
was  up  betimes,  and  off  by  an  early  train  to  Witstead.  During 
those  restless  hours  he  had  begun  to  doubt.  Perhaps  his  inter- 
ference at  such  a  crisis  was  just  a  little  high-handed,  and  might 
provoke  resentment?  Perhaps  Sabina  ought  to  know  why  he  had 
urged  her  immediate  leaving  for  Buckinghamshire  ?  Indeed,  there 
were  a  hundred  plausible  reasons  why  he  should  go  down  and  con- 
sult Janie,  and  see  that  Sabina  was  got  safely  away.  But  he  rather 
strove  to  conceal  from  himself  the  real  reason,  which  was  this  :  he 
wished  Sabina  to  understand  that,  despite  the  knowledge  he  had 
just  acquired,  he  was  just  as  much  her  faithful  friend  as  ever.  To 
pass  her  by  without  recognition  ?     That  was  not  likely. 

There  was  another  thing  which  he  tried  to  hide  from  himself, 
or  to  forget — and  that  was  the  tragic  hopelessness  of  the  whole 
situation.  What  was  her  future  life  to  be  ?  And  his  own  ?  Per- 
haps there  was  nothing  dramatically  pathetic  in  his  position — no 
definite  sorrov^f  to  be  met  and  conquered — no  sudden  blow  of  evil 
fortune  to  be  faced.  A  gray  waste  of  years  makes  no  particular 
appeal  to  the  human  heart.  And  indeed,  for  his  own  part,  he  de- 
liberately avoided  looking  at  any  such  prospect.  The  immediate 
details  he  made  matters  of  importance,  and  strove  to  confine  his  at- 
tention to  them.  As  soon  as  he  knew  when  Sabina  could  start, 
he  would  telegraph  to  the  Red  Lion  Hotel,  High  Wycombe,  ask- 
ing the  landlord  to  have  a  conveyance  ready  to  take  her  to  Mis- 
senden.  And  then,  as  regarded  himself  ?  Well,  he  went  no  fur- 
ther than  the  meetings  of  the  Monks  of  St.  Giles,  in  New  York. 
These  were  quite  merry  and  pleasant.  But  his  face  looked  rather 
pallid  and  worn  as  he  sate  in  the  railway-carriage  and  absently 
looked  at  the  passing  landscape. 

When  he  reached  the  cottage  he  asked  for  Janie  ;  and  presently 
Janie  appeared,  looking  scared  and  breathless. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Lindsay,  I  have  something  dreadful  to  say  to  you," 


CONSPIEATOES.  385 

she  broke  in  at  once,  before  he  could  make  any  excuse  for  his  visit. 
"Sabie  has  told  me  everything  at  last.  After  you  left  last 
night  she  was  in  a  dreadful  way — she  was  crying — and  saying  she 
had  never  received  such  kindness  from  any  human  being  as  from 
you — and  that  you  would  despise  her — and — and — be  ashamed  to 
think  you  had  ever  made  her  your  friend.  And  then  she  told 
me — what  she  had  intended  to  tell  you,  but  she  hadn't  the  cour- 
atre— " 

o 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  coming  to  her  aid,  for  he  could  see  how  agitated 
she  was, "  but  don't  vex  yourself  about  it.  I  know  the  whole 
story.  I  had  the  honor  of  Mr.  Fred  Foster's  company  at  dinner 
last  night." 

She  stared  at  him — he  seemed  to  take  the  matter  so  quietly. 

"  I  met  him  at  the  gate  as  I  was  going  away — " 

"We  heard  some  people  talking,"  she  said,  breathlessly. 

"  And  as  I  thought  he  was  drunk,  I  coaxed  him  itito  going 
back  to  London.  I  admit  it  was  rather  a  cool  thing  to  do,  but  I 
don't  see  how  any  harm  can  come  of  it.  He  got  a  good  dinner, 
and  went  oflE  home  a  little  more  sober  than  when  I  found  him — 
not  that  I  say  he  was  really  drunk — I  fancy  he  was  as  much  stupe- 
fied as  anything  else." 

"  But,"  said  Janie,  in  a  bewildered  way — "  but  you  are  not 
angry  with  Sabie  ?" 

"  Angry  ?     On  what  account  ?" 

"  For  allowing  us  all  to  think  he  was  dead." 

"  I  suppose  she  had  sufficient  reasons." 

"  Ah,  didn't  I  tell  her  you  would  say  that !"  Janie  exclaimed, 
triumphantly.  "Didn't  I  say  you  would  pass  a  charitable  judg- 
ment on  anything  she  did." 

"  But  I  do  not  wish  to  judge  her  at  all,"  he  said,  calmly. 

"  And  you  don't  want  to  be  told  why  it  was  that  Sabie  allowed 
such  a  thing?" 

"  1  certainly  don't  ask  to  be  told,"  he  answered.  "  I  assume 
that  you  know  her  reasons.  Yet  you  don't  seem  to  have  fallen 
out  with  her.  And  why  should  I  presume  to  be  her  judge,  in 
any  case?" 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  know  how  she  values  your  good  opinion," 

Janie  said.      And  then  she  hesitated.     "  Yes,  I  suppose  you  would 

bo  content  to  say,  '  Well,  whatever  it  was  that  lia])pened,  Sabie 

did  what  was  right,'  and  you  would  ask  nothing  further  about  it. 

17 


386  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

But  if  I  were  to  let  you  go  away  like  that,  I  know  what  she  would 
say  ;  she  would  say, '  Ah,  you  dared  not  tell  him — you  were  afraid 
to  see  what  he  would  think  of  me — you  hesitated  because  you 
knew  you  would  be  cuttino;  adrift  from  me  the  best  of  all  my 
friends.'  You  understand,  Mr.  Lindsay,  that  she  is  far  more  sen- 
sitive now  than  she  used  to  be;  her  troubles  and  her  living  alone 
have  altered  her  a  good  deal — and  if  you  only  knew  how  anxious 
she  is,  you  would  not  think  hardly  of  her." 

It  was  clear  that  Janie  herself  was  considerably  anxious,  if  her 
face  told  a  true  tale. 

*'  She  says  a  woman  would  understand  her  position  a  little  better 
— and  perhaps  forgive  her ;  but  not  you." 

*'  I  never  heard  yet,"  said  he,  "  that  a  man  was  likely  to  be  more 
uncharitable  towards  a  woman  than  another  woman  would  be.  I 
should  have  thought  it  would  be  the  other  way  about." 

"  Supposing,"  Janie  said,  rather  tremblingly,  and  she  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  him,  "  supposing  that  Sabie  was  accused  of — of — ob- 
taining money  on  false  pretences?" 

"I  should  not  believe  it,"  he  said,  simply. 

"But — but  if  it  were  true?  I  suppose  nothing  would  excuse 
it?  You  would  never  forgive  her — a  man  would  never  forgive 
her!" 

She  was  regarding  him  with  piteous  eyes. 

"Now  that  you  have  told  me  so  much,  you  must  tell  me  the 
whole,"  he  said.     "Who  makes  such  an  accusation?" 

"It  was  her  own  phrase — the  very  words  she  used  when  she 
was  putting  everything  as  harshly  as  it  could  be  put,  and  then 
challenging  me  to  say  that  you  would  not  think  ill  of  her.  And 
if  I  tell  you  the  story  now — if  I  tell  it  badly — so  that  you  have 
no  sympathy  with  her,  I  am  frightened — " 

"You  need  not  be  frightened,"  he  said.  "None  of  us  who 
have  known  her  are  likely  to  think  hardly  of  her,  whatever  she 
has  done." 

"  And  indeed  it  was  all  Foster's  doing  !"  Janie  pleaded,  earnest- 
ly. "He  terrified  her  into  it.  He  was  at  his  wit's  end  for  mon- 
ey. He  declared  that  there  was  but  the  one  chance  to  save  him 
from  utter  ruin.  Then  he  got  her  to  go  to  Sir  Anthony — but  that 
was  no  use — and  she  knew  it  would  be  no  use.  Foster  was  des- 
perate ;  Sabina  herself  does  not  understand  what  scheme  he  had 
on  foot ;  but  he  was  determined  to  get  some  money  somehow ; 


CONSPIRATORS.  387 

and  so  he  made  sure  that  if  notice  of  his  death  were  sent  to  Sir 
Anthony,  there  would  be  some  provision  made  for  the  supposed 
•widow.  And  do  you  know  how  he  forced  her  into  it?  He  swore, 
on  oath,  that  if  she  didn't  help  him  in  that  way,  he  would  take 
the  boy  away  with  him  to  Australia,  as  soon  as  the  law  allowed 
Iiim  to  do  that,  and  that  she  would  never  sec  either  of  thorn  ai;-ain. 
It  wasn't  the  first  time  he  had  made  the  threat — he  had  made  it 
before — and  oh,  Mr.  Lindsay,  if  you  had  seen  Sabie  the  day  she 
came  to  us  to  tell  us — it  was  terrible,  terrible  !  I  never  saw  any 
one  so  wild  with  alarm  and  despair.  Just  the  one  thing  she  lived 
for  to  be  taken  out  of  her  life  !  Of  course,  Phil  told  her  that  Fos- 
ter could  not  do  such  a  thing  just  then  ;  but  she  said  it  was  all  the 
more  horrible  to  be  looking  forward  to  it  when  the  boy  would  be 
her  companion — fancy  a  child  of  seven  to  be  taken  away  from  the 
mother — and  that  is  English  law !  She  says  herself  she  thinks 
she  must  have  been  half  mad ;  she  clung  to  the  little  boy  so  ;  and 
she  was  in  such  terror.  Foster  did  it  all.  He  had  an  advertise- 
ment of  his  death  put  in  a  Yorkshire  paper;  and  all  she  did  was 
to  send  that  to  Sir  Anthony  and  to  us,  and  ask  us  not  to  come 
down  for  a  time.  When  Sir  Anthony  and  I  did  come  down,  she 
was  like  a  stone.  And  of  course  neither  of  us  pretended  to  offer 
her  sympathy  ;  I  suppose  both  of  us  were  secretly  glad  that  the 
wretch  was  gone.  Sir  Anthony  gave  her  a  chock  there  and  thon  ; 
and  he  doubled  her  allowance — making  it  what  it  was  before  her 
marriage ;  of  course,  every  farthing  of  that  —  every  farthing  she 
could  scrape  together — being  claimed  by  that  scoundrel.  Now 
that  is  the  whole  extent  of  it — and  it  was  all  done  under  the  ter- 
rorism about  the  taking  away  of  the  little  boy.  Mr.  Lindsay," 
said  Janie,  at  the  end  of  this  appeal — and  her  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears — "  you're  not  going  to  give  up  Sabie  ?  you're  not  going  to 
ask  me  to  tell  her  that  you  are  no  longer  her  friend  ?" 

"I  am  sure  you  will  tell  her  nothing  of  the  kind — so  long  as 
my  friendship  is  of  any  use  to  her,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  pitiable 
story.  I  suppose,  in  her  present  state,  she  exaggerates  hor  share 
in  it.  And  so  she  thinks  a  man  would  take  a  less  charitable  view 
of  it  than  a  woman  ?  Well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  think  a 
man  can  see  what  her  situation  was  just  as  well  as  a  woman — a 
very  miserable  and  unhappy  situation  that  one  naturally  wishes 
she  had  never  found  herself  in — " 

"Bat  it's  your  forgiveness  she  seeks  for,"  said  Janio,  tiiiiiilly. 


388  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  My  forgiveness  ?"  he  repeated.  "  I  refuse  to  utter  a  single 
■word  of  blame." 

Then  Janio  laughed  through  her  tears. 

"  Ah,  didn't  I  say  that ! — when  she  wouldn't  believe  me.  And 
she  is  making  all  the  reparation  she  can,"  Janie  added,  eagerly. 
"  You  see,  the  death  of  the  poor  little  boy  left  her  free.  Foster 
has  no  longer  any  hold  over  her.  She  won't  take  another  penny 
of  any  kind  from  her  father;  as  soon  as  she  gets  down  into 
Buckinghamshire  she  is  going  to  write  to  him  and  confess  every- 
thing, and  give  up  the  whole  of  her  allowance.  Old  Mr.  Foster  is 
only  too  glad  to  have  her  go  and  live  with  him;  and  Sabie  never 
had  expensive  habits.  Then,  as  for  her  husband,  I  suppose  the 
old  gentleman  can  easily  prevent  his  coming  about  the  place — 
Fred  Foster  will  now  be  entirely  dependent  on  him," 

She  glanced  at  him  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  she  said,  "  but  always  you  seem  to 
bring  strength  and  calmness  with  you — and  a  sense  of  safety. 
This  morning,  when  I  woke,  I  thought  everything  was  at  its  worst ; 
there  did  not  seem  a  glimpse  of  hope  anywhere;  and  even  when  I 
thought  of  you,  it  was  with  a  kind  of  fear — for  I  was  not  quite  sure 
— I  was  not  quite  so  sure  as  I  pretended  to  be  to  Sabie.  But  now, 
now  you  will  let  me  tell  her  you  don't  think  so  badly  of  her — " 

"That  is  not  the  message,"  said  he.  "If  you  think  she  cares 
for  my  opinion  at  all,  you  may  tell  her  that  I  quite  understand 
how  she  was  driven  to  give  an  unwilling  consent,  and  that  I  have 
no  blame  for  her — none." 

"  It  will  be  one  little  bit  of  happiness  for  her,"  said  Janie. 
"  And  I  suppose  she  will  be  safe  from  his  persecution  down  there. 
It's  little  he  knows  why  she  was  so  tame  and  obedient  before. 
That  is  all  over  now.  And  that  of  itself  is  something.  But," 
she  added,  wistfully,  "  I  had  been  looking  forward  to  a  very  dif- 
ferent future  for  our  Sabie." 

"You  got  my  telegram  last  night,  I  suppose?"  he  said, 

"  Yes ;  and  I  shall  be  as  glad  to  get  away  as  she  will.  Fancy 
if  Foster  were  to  come  down  and  find  me  here  !" 

"Well,  is  he  a  person  to  be  afraid  of?  But  I  will  see  to  that. 
lie  will  not  come  down  here  until  you  are  both  of  you  away. 
When  can  you  go  ?" 

"The  few  things  will  be  packed  to-day;  and  I  think  we  can 
leave  to-morrow  mornino;." 


CONSPIRATORS.  389 

"Very  well;  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  Foster  coming  down," 
said  he.  "  Then  I  suppose  you  know  what  to  do.  Sabina  will  tell 
you  whether  it  is  to  High  Wycombe  or  to  Prince's  Risboroiigh 
you  should  telegraph  to  have  a  trap  waiting.  And  of  course  you 
will  telegraph  to  Missenden  as  well.  I  suppose  it  is  too  much  to 
ask  that  you  should  go  with  her  all  the  way  ?" 

"But  I  have  Phil's  strict  orders!"  Janie  exclaimed.  "I  am 
not  to  leave  her  until  she  is  comfortably  settled  in  her  new 
home." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  line 
from  you  when  everything  has  been  arranged." 

He  rose  to  go. 

"And  you  ?"  said  Janie. 

He  understood  well  enough  the  meaning  of  this  half-frightened 
question  ;  but  he  only  answered,  carelessly, 

"Oh,  well,  I  have  still  some  things  to  get  finished  up  at  Bur- 
ford  Bridge.  And  I  have  been  thinking  of  running  down  to  Scot- 
land for  a  few  days,  to  put  ray  small  affairs  in  order.  After  that 
— I  don't  know." 

"  I  will  write  as  soon  as  Sabie  is  settled  in  Buckinghamshire," 
Janie  said.  "  I  suppose  you  would  not  care  to  see  her  now  ?  No  ; 
it  would  be  better  not.  She  is  very  much  upset ;  and  I  should  like 
to  prepare  her — oh,  she  will  be  so  glad  to  know  that  you  still  think 
well  and  kindly  of  her.  There  is  not  any  one  whose  opinion  she 
values  so  much." 

"  Make  her  mind  perfectly  clear  about  that,  then,"  he  said,  in 
parting;  and  then  he  left  the  house  and  returned  to  London, 

This  was  an  objectless  kind  of  day  somehow.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  himself.  He  could  find  no  employment  in  his 
studio.  He  walked  along  to  the  Arts  Club,  and  dawdled  away 
some  time  there,  reading  magazines,  smoking,  chatting  to  casual 
droppers-in.  Then  he  went  out  into  the  melancholy  dusk  of  the 
London  afternoon,  and  wandered  about  the  streets  and  squares, 
watching  here  and  there  the  golden  gleam  of  a  newly-lit  gas  lamp 
suddenly  shoot  through  the  gray.  Finally,  he  got  back  to  the  Club 
again,  ordereil  a  bit  of  dinner,  and  sate  down  at  a  small  table  by 
himself — which  was  not  his  usual  way,  for  he  had  heaps  of  friends 
and  acquaintances. 

One  of  these  came  into  the  room. 

"  Holloa,  Lindsay,  all  alone  ?    What's  the  matter  ? — you're  look- 


390  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

ing  rather  glum.  And  yet  you  shouldn't  be.  Of  course,  you've 
heard  what  they're  prophesying  about  you  ?" 

"I  have  heard  nothing — I. have  been  down  in  the  country." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  haven't  heard  that  there  is  a 

knighthood  being  got  ready  for  you  ?    Don't  you  know  that 

talks  of  resigning?  then,  as  a  matter  of  certainty,  the  Society  will 
elect  you  their  new  President ;  and  every  one  says  the  Queen  will 
rise  to  the  occasion.     My  congratulations,  Sir  Walter  1" 

The  recipient  of  this  news  did  not  seem  to  take  much  interest 
in  it,  however  ;  perhaps  the  contingency  was  too  remote ;  perhaps 
the  Lindsays  of  Carnryan  could  afford  to  be  indifferent  about  any 
such  decoration. 

"I  will  join  you — to  the  extent  of  a  sherry-and-bitters,"  said 
this  amiable  new-comer,  drawing  in  a  chair.  "  But  what  is  the  mat- 
ter, really?     You  look  very  depressed." 

"I  have  reason  to  be  depressed,"  Lindsay  said,  "and  I  will  tell 
you  what  it  is.  Either  to-night  or  to-morrow  morning  I  have  to 
meet  a  man,  and  my  difficulty  will  be  to  keep  from  murdering  him. 
If  I  murder  him  it  will  be  bad  for  me ;  if  I  don't,  it  will  be  a  dis- 
tinct disservice  to  the  country  in  which  the  hound  is  allowed  to 
live.     That's  all." 

"  What  has  he  done  to  you?" 

"  Nothing  to  me." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  ;  people  don't  take  such  violent  dislikes  for  noth- 
ing— unless  you're  chaffing.     Or  is  there  a  woman  in  the  affair  ?" 

"  There  is,  in  a  way,"  Lindsay  answered,  frankly.  "  It  is  his 
conduct  to  his  wife  that  beats  anything  in  the  way  of  meanness — 
meanness  and  brutality — that  was  ever  heard  of.  If  I  were  to  tell 
you  here,  now,  you  would  want  to  kick  him  across  the  square  and 
back  again,  and  along  down  Oxford  Street,  until  your  boots  gave 
out.  And  the  infernal  ruffian  dined  with  me  last  night !  I  didn't 
know  the  fifteenth  part  of  what  he  had  done.  And  he  dined  with 
me — sate  at  the  same  table !" 

Lindsay  had  begun  his  story  in  the  ordinary  tone  of  Club  persi- 
flage, but  there  was  a  darker  light  gathering  in  his  eyes.  His  com- 
panion hesitated  for  an  instant,  and  then  made  bold  to  say, 

"  My  good  friend,  pray  excuse  me.  I  don't  want  to  intermed- 
dle, but  I  would  strongly  advise  you  to  come  out  of  that.  It  is  a 
very  dangerous  position.  When  a  man  has  strong  sympathy  with 
a  married  woman  who  has  been  injured,  and  would  like  to  kick 


A   CONFESSION.  391 

and  cowhide  the  husband — mind,  I  am  not  speaking  of  this  par- 
ticular case,  but  I  have  noticed  that  mischief  generally  comes  of  it. 
You,  of  all  people,  too !  You  know  the  kind  of  talk  that  goes 
on  about  everybody.  Well,  I  never  heard  your  name  coupled 
■with  the  name  of  a  woman  even  in  the  most  innocent  way.  Oh, 
yes;  there  was  once,  of  course.  You  were  pretty  badly  hit  that 
time,  but  I  suppose  you  have  forgotten  all  about  it  now.  Let  me 
see,  what  was  her  name  ?  The  beautiful  tall  girl,  with  the  splen- 
did hair,  who  came  once  or  twice  to  Mrs.  Mellord's.  She  lived 
down  in  Kensington  Square  with  some  old  people — " 

"  I  know  whom  you  mean,"  said  Lindsay,  shortly. 

"  But  you  have  forgotten  her  name  !  Lord,  Lord,  what  faith- 
fulness there  is  in  man  I" 

"  Her  name  was  then  Miss  Zembra.  I  will  ask  you  not  to  say 
anything  further  about  her." 

"  Her  name  then  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  think  I  remember  something 
about  her  getting  married."  And  then  he  seemed  to  be  struck 
with  some  sudden  fancy,  and  he  looked  quickly  at  Lindsay.  "I 
say,  Lindsay,  you  don't  mean  that — " 

He  stopped,  and  his  silence  was  more  significant  than  words. 
He  dared  not  even  ask  whether  the  Miss  Zembra  of  that  time  was 
the  married  woman  whose  injuries  were  now  appealing  to  Lind- 
say's sympathy,  and  to  his  indignation  and  anger.  But  the 
sherry-and-bitters  was  finished.     He  rose. 

"  Of  course,  anything  I  said  was  only  in  chaflf,"  he  said,  "  but 
men  do  get  into  scrapes  in  the  most  innocent  wa}'.  And  any- 
body going  down  to  Windsor  to  be  knighted  would  have  to  have 
a  pretty  clean  record,  as  the  sayint;  is." 

"  Murder  might  be  objected  to?"  Lindsay  said,  looking  up. 

"  If  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  see  that  man,  either  to-night  or  to- 
morrow morning,"  his  acquaintance  said.  "Just  you  take  care. 
There  can  be  no  harm  in  giving  you  so  much  advice.     Ta-ta ! 

I'm  going  to  dine  at  the Restaurant,  and  Lord  have  mercy  on 

my  soul !" 

But  Lindsay  was  not  much  alarmed.  Having  finished  with 
dinner,  he  went  up-stairs  to  the  smoking-room,  and  there,  after 
some  deliberation,  wrote  a  note  to  Fred  Foster,  asking  liim  to 
call  at  his,  Lindsay's,  studio  the  next  day  at  noon;  the  money 
would  then  be  waiting  for  him.  He  despatched  this  note  by  a 
commissionaire  a  little  after  eight  o'clock ;  and  ho  guessed  that 


392  SABINA    ZEilBRA. 

it  was  not  likely  Foster  would  think  of  going  down  to  "VYitstead 
at  so  late  an  hour;  while,  as  for  the  following  morning,  he  would 
have  to  be  in  London  at  least  until  twelve. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

A  KEEPSAKE. 

Punctually  at  noon  Fred  Foster  arrived,  and  was  shown 
through  the  house  and  through  the  garden  to  the  studio.  Lindsay 
was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  smoking  his  pipe.  AVhen 
he  heard  the  footsteps  outside  he  said  to  himself,  "  Now,  can  I 
keep  my  hands  off  the  scoundrel?  Can  I  leave  England  without 
telling  him  what  a  coward  and  sneak  he  is?  Is  it  to  be  kicking? 
Or  breaking  a  stick  across  his  back?"  But  the  instant  the  door 
was  opened  all  that  vanished  from  his  mind.  Contempt,  pure 
and  simple,  took  its  place.  He  regarded  this  miserable  creature 
with  loathing,  not  with  anger,  briefly  bade  him  good-morning,  and 
then  turned  to  stir  the  fire  so  as  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  shaking 
hands. 

"  Snug  quarters  on  a  cold  morning  like  this,"  said  Mr.  Foster, 
in  a  friendly  and  familiar  way.  "You  are  lucky  fellows  who  can 
live  in  a  dreamland  of  your  own,  instead  of  being  buffeted  about 
the  world — " 

"  I  have  the  money  ready  for  you,"  Lindsay  said,  curtly,  and 
lie  walked  across  the  room  to  his  writing-desk. 

"  Of  course  you  understand  I  don't  take  it  as  a  loan,"  Foster 
remarked,  with  some  little  assumption  of  dignity.  "I  take  it  on 
commission.  If  it  were  a  loan,  I  would  give  you  my  I  0  U  for 
it—" 

"  I  will  not  trouble  you,"  said  Lindsay,  with  marked  coldness. 

Foster  glanced  at  him  with  a  twinkle  of  anger  in  his  half-dazed 
eyes.  "  Supercilious  beast !"  was  doubtless  in  his  mind  ;  but  there 
was  a  vision  of  a  pale-blue  check  before  him,  and  that  kept  him 
respectful.     All  he  said  was, 

"  Of  course  you  won't,  for  I  don't  mean  to.  I  take  the  money 
on  commission,  as  I  say ;  and  I  explained  to  you  the  other  night 
that,  if  the  horse  wins,  you  mustn't  expect  to  be  paid  the  odds  that 
are  now  quoted  in  the  market.     You  will  get  a  percentage  on  the 


A   KEEPSAKE.  393 

money — that  is  all ;  but  I  dare  say  it  will  be  handsome  enough 
to  satisfy  you,  if  we  pull  the  thing  off." 

Lindsay  handed  him  the  check  without  a  word ;  it  was  a  heavy 
price  to  pay — but  by  tliis  time  Sabina  would  be  on  her  way  down 
into  Buckinghamshire. 

"  With  anything  like  luck,"  Foster  said,  as  he  folded  up  the 
check  and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  "  I  ought  to  be  able  to  return  you 
a  little  slip  of  paper  with  considerably  bigger  figures  on  it.  And 
I  think  we  are  pretty  safe  this  journey.  It's  about  time  some- 
thing was  coming  my  way — I've  had  such  a  cursed  run  of  luck  as 
never  was  heard  of  in  the  world  before.  And  if  we  do  pull  it  off 
this  time,  it  will  be  to  a  pretty  tune,  I  promise  you ;  it's  going  to 
be  a  big  thing,  one  way  or  the  other.  Just  you  wait  to  see  what 
the  iVth  of  March  will  bring  forth." 

"In  the  mean  time,"  said  Lindsay,  "when  are  you  going  down 
to  Witstead?" 

Foster  stared,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  What's  that  to  you  ?" 

"  Because,"  Lindsay  continued,  "I  should  like  you  to  make 
arrangements  to  let  my  house-keeper  come  back  home  again  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"  Your  house-keeper  ?     What  is  she  doing  there  ?" 

"  If  you  had  been  in  your  own  house  while  your  child  was  ill, 
you  would  know,"  was  the  answer.  "  The  little  girl  was  afraid 
of  the  fever — or  her  people  were — and  she  left.  It  was  necessary 
to  have  some  one  at  once,  and  I  sent  my  house-keeper  down.  It 
is  time  she  was  home  again." 

"  Well,  why  doesn't  my  wife  let  her  go?"  said  he. 

"  As  I  understand  it,  Mrs.  Foster  was  going  down  to  your 
father's,  and  my  house-keeper  was  to  remain  in  charge  of  the 
place  until  you  showed  up;  that  was  the  arrangement,  I  believe." 

"  My  wife  going  down  to  Buckinghamshire !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Who  told  you  that?" 

"  Janie." 

"Oh,  but  she  sha'n't !  I'll  stop  that.  We'll  soon  put  an  end 
to  that  manoeuvre !" 

Lindsay  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  with  patience.  Indeed, 
there  was  no  cause  for  any  dis(]uietude  now.  She  would  be  on 
her  way  to  Wycombe  by  this  time;  in  an  hour  or  two  she  would 
be  safe  in  her  new  home.  And  so  this  poor  weakling  of  a  creat- 
ure— with  the  shaky  fingers  and  dazed  eyes  and  half-bemused 
17* 


394  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

brain — imagined  that  he  had  still  a  hold  over  Sabina,  when  he 
could  no  longer  terrify  her  with  threats  of  taking  away  her  child? 
It  was  amusing,  in  a  way.  Did  he  think  it  was  his  force  of  char- 
acter? Or  the  majesty  of  the  law  behind  him?  Well,  undoubt- 
edly the  majesty  of  the  law  was  behind  him  ;  but  his  own  pecu- 
niary interests  were  of  more  immediate  importance  to  him :  and 
Lindsay  did  not  anticipate  that  the  old  gentleman  in  Missenden 
would  find  much  difficulty  in  inducing  his  worthy  son  to  leave 
Sabina  in  peace. 

"  Well,  I'm  off,"  said  the  gentleman  with  the  check  in  his  pock- 
et. "Much  obliged  for  your  confidence.  Hope  you  won't  find 
it  misplaced." 

This  time  it  was  the  opening  of  the  studio  door  that  relieved 
Lindsay  of  the  necessity  of  shaking  hands. 

"  Good-morning — I  suppose  you  will  be  able  to  find  your  way 
out  ?" 

"  Oh  yes — don't  you  trouble.  Good-morning  !"  It  was  the 
hist  time  these  two  ever  saw  each  other. 

And  then  Lindsay  began  his  preparation  for  going  away  some- 
where, for  he  had  grown  tired  of  England,  and  wished  for  a  change. 
He  was  fond  of  travel  and  fresh  scenes,  and  he  could  find  occupa- 
tion for  himself  wherever  he  went.  So,  first  of  all,  he  returned  to 
Burford  Bridge,  and  finished  up  his  work  there;  then  he  made  a 
journey  northward  to  his  native  kingdom  of  Galloway,  and  saw 
that  his  small  belongings  in  that  famous  county  were  being  prop- 
erly looked  after ;  and  finally  he  engaged  a  berth  in  a  White  Star 
liner.     New  York  was  to  be  his  first  objective  point. 

And  yet  he  did  not  like  the  idea  of  leaving  England  without 
saying  good-by  to  Sabina — any  more  than  he  liked  the  idea  of 
presenting  himself  before  her  a  solitary  and  unsummoncd  visitor. 
He  went  to  Janie  about  it. 

"  I  know  quite  well,"  he  said,  "  that  I  was  of  some  little  service 
to  her  down  there  in  Surrey.  But  she  may  think  I  am  pressing 
too  much  of  a  claim  on  the  strength  of  that." 

"  Then  it's  little  you  understand  Sabie,"  Janie  answered,  prompt- 
ly. *'  And  what  is  more — if  you  have  any  regard  for  her  at  all, 
you  won't  leave  the  country  without  going  to  see  her.  She  will 
never  believe  that  she  is  fully  reinstated  in  your  good  opinion  un- 
less you  do  that.  Of  course,  I  told  her  all  you  said — and  very 
glad  and  very  grateful  she  was — but  assurances  of  that  kind,  com- 


A    KEEPSAKE.  395 

ing  from  a  tliiid  persou,  are  never  quite  satisfactory.  Mr.  Lind- 
say, you  will  go  and  see  Sabie !" 

"She  might  think  it  strange,  my  going  there  alone,"  he  said, 
douhtfuliy. 

"  Will  you  go  if  she  asks  you?" 

"  Most  certainly  !" 

"Then  wait  till  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

On  the  morning  indicated  by  Janie  there  came  to  him  a  very 
friendly,  if  rather  timid,  little  note  from  Sablna,  saying  she  had 
heard  from  Janie  that  he  was  leaving  England  for  some  time,  and 
intimated  tliat  if  it  was  not  altogether  too  inconvenient  for  him, 
she  would  like  to  have  the  opportunity  of  bidding  him  good-by. 
He  sought  out  a  time-table ;  there  was  a  train  at  eleven  o'clock. 
And  so,  in  due  course,  he  found  himself  on  his  way  to  Prince's 
Risborough  ;  for  he  thought  he  would  like  to  have  a  walk  across 
the  Chiltern  hills,  to  have  a  last  look  at  an  English  landscape;  be- 
sides, that  would  time  his  arrival  at  Great  Missenden  for  about 
five  o'clock,  when  he  conld  not  incommode  the  unknown  house- 
hold in  any  wav. 

The  journey  down  was  uninteresting,  for  a  cold  gray  mist  robbed 
the  landscape  of  any  color  it  might  otherwise  have  had.  But 
perhaps  his  eyes  were  busy  with  other  things  than  those  visible 
through  the  carriage  window.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  was  bent 
on  a  double  leave-taking — this  was  a  last  look  at  England,  and  a 
last  good-by  to  Sabina  too. 

Arrived  at  Prince's  Risborough  station,  he  asked  for  some  scrap 
of  lunch  at  the  refreshment-room  there,  but  they  could  give  him 
nothing.  They  suggested  that  if  he  went  on  to  the  village,  he 
might  fare  better  at  the  George. 

"If  it's  only  bread-and-cheese,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  set  out 
again,  "  I  must  liave  something."  For  he  was  not  going  to  have 
Sabina  inconvenienced  by  the  appearance  of  a  hungry  visitor. 

Great,  however,  and  unexpected  was  his  great  fortune  at  the 
George — a  small  inn  in  the  main  thoroughfare  of  this  dead-alivo 
and  melancholy  village.  Jle  sudilenly  found  himself  in  the  land 
of  Canaan  ;  for  there  was  a  market  ordinary  going  on  in  the  prin- 
cipal room,  and  they  got  a  place  for  him  with  groat  politeness,  and 
made  him  very  welcome  at  the  bountiful  feast.  Indeed,  this  was 
not  the  first  time  by  many  that  he  had  noticed  the  good-fellowship 
and  friendliness  and  courtesy  shown   by  a  number  of  strangers 


396  SABINA   ZE3IBRA. 

thrown  together  in  an  English  inn — a  courtesy  of  which  he  had 
never  seen  the  like  in  any  other  country  he  had  visited ;  and  he 
had  been  a  considerable  traveller.  So  far  from  each  man  attend- 
ing solely  to  his  own  wants,  and  gulping  his  food  as  if  he  was 
running  to  catch  a  train,  there  was  a  general  helpfulness  that  was 
almost  obtrusive ;  and  there  was  an  air  of  leisurely  comfort  about 
the  proceedings,  as  if  each  man  knew  that  his  dog-cart  was  out- 
side awaiting  his  good  pleasure.  And  he  liked  the  wholesome 
and  healthy  and  sturdy  look  of  these  elderly  farmers — with  their 
silver-gray  whiskers  and  ruddy  complexion,  their  clear  blue  eyes, 
and  their  deliberate,  strongly  accentuated,  masculine  speech.  Their 
humor  was  not  very  subtle,  perhaps;  their  political  views  were 
robust  and  definite  rather  than  learned ;  and  plain  common-sense 
and  attention  to  the  substantial  facts  of  life  were  doubtless  more 
in  their  way  than  a  gay  facetiousness ;  nevertheless,  judging  by  a 
tolerably  wide  experience,  this  type  of  character  was  very  grateful 
to  Walter  Lindsay,  who  had  long  ago  arrived  at  the  conviction 
that  the  clever,  shallow,  conceited,  ignorant,  believing-in-nothing 
London  cockney  is  the  most  degraded  and  contemptible  of  all 
God's  creatures — if  such  he  may  properly  be  called. 

Then  he  set  out  to  climb  the  Chilterns,  keeping  to  the  right  of 
the  great  white  cross  which,  cut  on  the  chalk  slope,  is  visible  all 
the  way  from  Oxford.  The  conditions  were  not  favorable  for  his 
last  look  round.  A  pale  mist  hung  along  the  hills;  the  wintry 
woods  and  hedges  were  colorless,  but  for  here  and  there  a  bit  of 
green  holly  or  russet  beech  ;  the  sky  was  monotonously  gray. 
And  yet  when  he  reached  the  top,  and  turned  to  regard  the  great 
plain  stretched  out  beneath  him — with  its  farm-houses  and  fields 
and  copses  and  roads,  all  phantom-like  in  the  prevailing  haze — it 
was  with  not  a  little  regret  that  he  knew  this  was  a  leave-taking. 
He  had  a  great  affection  for  England,  if  he  was  born  a  Scotchman. 
It  was  in  England  he  had  lived  the  most  of  his  life  and  done  the 
best  of  his  work.  And  who  more  faithfully  than  himself  had 
studied  her  moods  and  ways — and  communed  with  her  in  secret 
places — and  got  to  know  her  elusive  charm  ?  For  the  beauty  of 
English  landscape  has  subtleties  that  none  but  the  painter  knows: 
and  it  is  only  after  patient  habitude  that  these  are  revealed  even 
to  him ;  often  enough,  moreover,  when  he  has  caught  and  trans- 
ferred to  paper  or  canvas  something  of  this  coy  graciousness,  the 
result  is  quite  disappointing  to  the  ordinary  spectator,  accustomed 


A  KEEPSAKE.  397 

to  the  obvious  characteristics  of  Italian  lates,  Swi'ss  mountains, 
Highland  glens,  and  the  like.  The  chromo-lithographer  is  not  at 
home  in  the  English  counties — or,  at  best,  he  goes  up  to  West- 
moreland, where  he  can  get  a  nice,  handy,  portable  edition  of  lake 
and  mountain  scenery,  all  within  easy  compass,  and  all  of  guaran- 
teed prettiness. 

Up  here,  on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  the  roads  were  filleil  with 
snow  and  half-melted  ice,  which  made  it  difficult  walking  ;  so, 
where  it  was  practicable,  he  made  a  path  for  himself  through  the 
leafless  beech  -  woods.  It  was  strangely  still  in  these  solitudes ; 
there  seemed  to  be  no  work  going  on  at  any  of  the  farms ;  the 
remotest  sounds  were  plainly  audible  in  the  hushed  air.  11  is  own 
footsteps,  too,  were  noiseless  on  the  yielding  carpet  of  withered 
leaves  ;  there  was  not  a  sign  of  life  anywhere  except  when  a  jay 
fled  shrieking  through  the  branches,  or  a  long- tailed  magpie 
flapped  its  silent  way  across  the  fields.  He  could  not  have  been 
more  alone  in  the  forests  of  Champlain. 

He  had  carefully  made  out  this  route  on  the  Ordnance  Survey 
map  before  starting;  and  when,  at  length,  he  came  in  sight  of  a 
spacious  mansion,  standing  at  the  summit  of  a  noble  avenue  that 
sloped  away  down  into  the  valley,  he  knew  that  this  was  Hamp- 
den House,  and  that  here  had  lived  the  great  Englishman  whose 
refusal  to  pay  Charles's  ship-money  had  rung  through  the  land  as 
a  summons  to  England  to  stand  by  her  ancient  rights  and  liber- 
ties. And  he  wondered  whether  they  had  brought  his  body,  after 
the  fray  at  Chalgrove,  to  be  buried  here;  and  whether  they  had 
borne  it,  with  solemn  state,  up  this  great  and  silent  avenue.  And 
he  wondered,  too — as  a  landscape-painter — where,  except  in  Eng- 
land, one  could  find  such  an  avenue;  some  three  hundred  yards 
he  guessed  its  width,  and  over  a  mile  its  length,  of  velvet  turf, 
where  the  snow  allowed  that  to  be  visible,  and  planted  on  each 
side  by  magnificent  beeches  and  Spanish  chestnuts.  Down  this 
avenue  he  made  his  way  to  the  Missenden  road — startling  a  rab- 
bit now  and  again  from  among  the  withered  bracken  and  the 
snow.  He  knew  that  close  by  was  the  piece  of  land  on  which 
the  ship-money  was  levied.  Had  ajiy  one  thought  of  erecting 
some  kind  of  memorial  to  mark  so  interesting  a  spot? 

However,  it  was  neither  John  Ham[)dcn,  nor  the  ship-money, 
nor  the  fatal  Chalgrove  field  that  was  in  his  mind  when  he  drew 
near  the  village  of  Misscndcn.     The  old-fashioned  house,  with  its 


398  SABIXA   ZEMBRA. 

red -brick  wall,  and  tall  elm -trees,  and  laiirGstlnus  bushes,  was 
pointed  out  to  him  by  a  passer-by  ;  he  rang  the  bell,  and  was  ad- 
mitted by  an  elderly  woman,  who  begged  him  to  go  into  the  draw- 
ing-room— Mrs.  Foster  would  be  with  him  presently.  So  there 
he  waited,  glancing  at  the  portraits  and  sketches  on  the  walls, 
rather  struck  by  the  Old-world  look  of  the  furniture  and  the  quaint 
decorations,  and  wondering  whether  Sabina  had  as  yet  had  time 
to  grow  quite  accustomed  to  the  quietude  of  her  new  home. 

The  door  opened ;  he  turned  instantly — and  caught  sight  of  a 
pair  of  eyes,  timid,  and  yet  shining  and  placid  and  grateful.  And 
this  was  not  at  all  the  pale  Sabina  he  had  expected  to  see;  there 
was  a  flush  of  rose-red  on  her  face — the  flush  of  a  girl  of  seven- 
teen ;  and  she  came  to  him  quickly,  with  extended  hand,  as  if  her 
gladness  at  the  sight  of  him  had  overcome  her  embarrassment. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  she  said,  simply.  "  Janie  gave  me 
all  the  messages  you  sent — and — and  that  was  only  more  of  your 
goodness  to  me ;  but  when  I  heard  you  were  going  away,  well,  I — 
I — wanted  to  see  you  yourself,  to  make  sure  that  you  did  really 
forgive  me — " 

"  Yes,  but  we  are  not  going  to  speak  of  that  any  more,"  said 
he,  gravely.  "That  is  all  over  and  done.  Janie  must  have  told 
you  that  I  understood  the  whole  situation  perfectly." 

"  And  I  am  not  even  to  thank  you  for  being  so  kind  ?" 

"  There  is  no  kindness  in  the  matter  ;  there  may  be  a  little  com- 
mon-sense. Now,  tell  me — are  you  quite  comfortable  here?  Do 
you  like  the  place  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  she  answered.  "  They  do  everything  they  can 
think  of  for  me,  and  one  day  is  just  like  another;  it  is  a  peaceful 
life;  and  I  wish  for  nothing  better.  Only,"  she  added,  with 
downcast  eyes,  "  it  is — very — far  away — from  Witstead." 

He  knew  what  she  meant;  but  he  understood  that  Janie  had 
undertaken  to  tend  the  little  grave  there. 

"  And  you,"  she  said — "  why  are  you  going  away  from  England 
after  being  home  so  short  a  time?" 

Well,  he  began  and  gave  her  his  reasons,  or  excuses,  for  going  ; 
and  told  her  of  all  his  plans  and  projects,  and  made  the  matter  as 
cheerful  as  it  might  be.  Then  she  asked  him  to  go  into  the  din- 
ing-room, where  old  Mr.  Foster,  whose  rheumatism  was  pretty  bad, 
was  seated ;  and  they  had  tea  there,  and  further  talk.  It  was 
pleasant  to  hear  Sabina's  voice.    And  sometimes  there  was  a  smile 


A    KEEPSAKE.  399 

in  her  eyes.  He  began  to  tbink  that  in  tbis  quiet  haven  she  might 
attain  some  forgetfiilness  of  the  too  ungenerous  past,  and  that  the 
years  might  bring  to  her  at  least  a  pUicid  content.  The  garden 
visible  through  the  window  looked  somewhat  dismal  at  present; 
but  spring  was  coming;  be  could  see  Sabina  among  the  young 
blossoms — in  a  light  print  dress — a  pair  of  gardener's  shears  in 
her  hand — perliaps  a  touch  of  peach-color  in  her  cheek — and  the 
bright  sunlight  on  her  golden-brown  hair. 

The  gray  of  the  afternoon  deepened ;  the  elderly  woman 
brought  in  the  lamps,  and  then  he  rose. 

"  I  have  to  walk  to  Wycombe,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am  not  quite 
sure  of  the  way — so  I  had  better  be  going." 

"But  you  must  not  got  astray  in  the  dark,"  Sabina  said,  anx- 
iously. "If  you  will  wait  a  few  minutes  I  will  send  over  to  the 
inn  and  get  a  conveyance  for  you — indeed,  you  must  do  that." 

"  If  you  are  not  too  proud  to  go  in  a  pony-chaise,"  old  Mr.  Fos- 
ter said,  with  a  laugh,  "our  lad  can  drive  you  across;  I'm  sure 
the  cob  doesn't  get  half  enough  exercise  in  this  weather." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  I  could  not  think  of  troubling  you ;  but  I 
tbink  what  Miss  Ze-*-Mrs.  Foster  says  is  quite  right — I  shouldn't 
like  to  miss  my  way — so  I'll  go  into  the  inn  in  passing  and  get  a  trap 
to  take  me  over.     I  may  catch  an  earlier  train,  too,  at  Wycombe." 

He  spoke  rapidly  and  confusedly ;  he  hoped  neither  of  them 
had  noticed  the  half-stumble.  But  indeed  she  had  been  looking 
so  young,  and  speaking  in  a  pleased  way,  as  in  the  olden  days — 
and  also,  perhaps,  he  was  a  little  bewildered  by  the  knowiedgo 
that  now  he  was  about  to  bid  her  farewell,  probably  for  many 
years.  He  was  a  little  breathless  when  he  found  that  she  came 
out  after  him  into  the  hall. 

"Mr.  Lindsay,"  she  said  —  and  she  stood  facing  him  in  the 
lampligiit,  but  with  her  eyes  downcast — "  good-by  is  easily  said; 
but  if  you  are  going  away — perhaps  for  some  years — well,  I  should 
like  you  to  think  sometimes  that  I  don't  forget,  that  I  never,  nev- 
er can  forget,  what  your  friendship  has  been  to  me.  Would  you 
take  a  little  keepsake  from  me — just  to  remind  you?  It  was  my 
grandfather's  — my  mother  gave  it  to  me." 

She  timidiv  olTiMCfl  him  the  trinket.  It  was  an  old-fashioned 
ring — H'd  gold  and  garnets. 

He  held  her  hand  in  his,  and  for  a  second  he  could  not  thank 
her  at  all. 


400  SABIXA    ZEMBEA. 

•'  It  will  be  a  reminder,  will  it  not,"  she  said,  "that  I  hare  not 
ceased  to  be  grateful  to  you  for  all  your  kindness  to  me  ?"' 

"  And  if  yoQ  only  knew  how  I  value  it — and  how  I  shall  value 
it  many  thousands  of  miles  away."  He  did  not  trust  himself  to 
say  more.     "  Good-by,  and  God  bless  yon  !" 

She  opened  the  door  for  liim ;  he  looked  once  at  the  tender 
eyes,  and  then  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

A    E:^"ELL    OF    DOOM. 


OyE  evening,  towards  nine  o'clock,  Fred  Foster  called  at  the 
Northern  Counties  Hotel,  Jermyn  Street,  asked  to  see  Mrs,  Fair- 
service,  and  was  shown  up-stairs  to  her  sitting-room.  Apparently 
she  had  just  finished  dinner :  dessert  was  still  on  the  table ;  and 
she  had  gone  to  the  fireplace,  before  which  she  was  standing  with 
an  evening  paper  in  her  hand. 

She  w:is  smartly  dressed,  her  yellow  hair  resplendent,  and  she 
wore  a  string  of  brilliants  round  her  neck. 

"  Fm  glad  youVe  come,"  she  said,  throwing  aside  the  paper. 
"  Fve  plenty  to  tell  you.  And  to  have  a  jock  dining  with  you 
who  can  neither  eat,  nor  drink,  nor  speak  a  word  unless  you  get 
it  out  of  him  with  a  corkscrew,  isn't  much  fun.  And  I've  plenty 
to  talk  about  too.  There,  help  yourself  to  some  wine — the  cigars 
are  on  the  top  of  the  piano." 

She  seemed  a  little  bit  excited. 

"  Then  that  was  Joe  Cantly  I  passed  in  the  hall  i"  he  said, 

**  Yes.     He's  off  to  King's  Cross,'' 

"  I  thought  it  looked  like  his  figure :  but  he  went  by  quickly, 
without  a  word.  Well,  what's  the  news  ?"  he  asked,  pouring  out 
some  champagne  with  no  very  steady  hand. 

"  Why,  just  the  same  old  news,  neither  more  nor  less,"  she  said  ; 
but  there  was  a  smile  of  triumph  about  the  thin,  hard  lips,  and  in 
the  steely-blue  eves. 

"  Everything  is  going  beantiful ;  and  if  I  haven't  got  hold  of 
Charlie  Bernard  this  time  it's  pretty  queer.  Oh.  I  don't  sav  you 
haven't  done  your  share  well  enough  :  but  when  mv  friend  Char- 
lie goes  smash,  he'll  have  a  pretty  good  guess  who  did  the  trick 


A   KNELL    OF   DOOM.  401 

for  him.  And  what  a  slice  of  luck  it  was! — the  moment  Joe 
Cantly  confessed  to  me  that  I'd  better  not  back  Master  of  Roy,  I 
suspected  what  they  were  up  to.  '  Why,  Joe,'  I  said,  '  it's  a  moral, 
if  that  horse  is  ridden  fair,  and  you  know  it  is.'  He  wouldn't 
answer  that.  '  You're  going  to  lose  the  race  ;  is  that  Bernard's  lit- 
tle game  V  says  I.  But  no,  the  mummified  little  creature  wouldn't 
say  one  thing  or  another.  If  you  only  knew  the  trouble  I  had  to 
corkscrew  the  truth  out  of  him  ;  and  indeed  it  was  only  nods  and 
winks  he  would  give.  And  how  cleverly  they  have  managed  it. 
Who  would  imagine  that  Charlie  Bernard,  openly  backing  Master 
of  Roy  to  win  the  Lincolnshire  Handicap — and  the  stable-money 
on,  too — was  laying  against  the  horse  by  commi?;sion,  qniotly  and 
gently,  but  taking  everything  the  public  folt  inclined  to  offer? 
And  we  are  in  that  public,  Master  Freddie,"  she  continued,  with 
a  laugh.  "  AVe  are  among  the  poor  innocent  gulls.  We  are  put- 
ting our  little  bits  on  ;  and  every  one  knows  the  favorite  will  win  ; 
we're  rejoicing  at  the  prospect  of  the  golden  sovereigns  being 
handed  over,  when,  behold  !  something  goes  wrong  with  Master  of 
Roy,  or  Joe  Cantly  does  a  little  bit  of  roping,  and  he's  down  at 
the  foot  of  the  poll,  or  out  of  it  altogether.  The  Jockey  Club 
make  a  fuss,  and  there  is  a  talk  in  the  newspapers;  but  noth- 
ing can  be  proved ;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  Charlie  Bernard  has 
scooped  in  the  guineas,  and  put  himself  on  his  legs  again.  Very 
good  ;  that's  all  right." 

She  rang  the  bell  for  some  tea. 

"I  told  you  all  the  way  through  that  Bernard  was  a  fool,"  she 
continued,  talking  rapidly  and  excitedly.  "  His  run  of  good-luck 
turned  his  head — he  thought  he  couldn't  do  wrong  ;  then,  when 
things  did  go  a  little  bit  bad  with  him,  he  lost  his  head  the  other 
way,  and  began  plunging  to  recover  himself.  South  African  dia- 
mond-mines! Do  you  think  I  should  have  let  liiui  touch  SduIIi 
African  diamond-mines  if  I  had  had  anything  to  do  with  hisalTairs? 
I  couldn't  have  helped  all  his  ill-luck  ;  I  couldn't  have  helped  Trig- 
onella  going  dead  lame — puff  went  twelve  hundred  guineas  then  ; 
but  I  could  have  told  him  to  keep  to  things  lie  knew  sDmethiiig 
about.  All  the  better  for  me  now.  He  is  just  walking  blindfuld 
into  the  trap  I  have  set  for  him;  and  when  it  snaps  on  his  ankle 
he'll  think  the  heavens  and  the  earth  have  come  to  an  cn<l.  That's 
tidy  odds — 100  to  14 — to  lay  against  the  favorite.  Listen — " 
She  took  up  the  paper.     " '  Master  of  Roy  continues  to  grow  in 


402  6ABINA   ZEMBKA. 

public  appreciation ;  and  Mr.  Bernard  is  confident  in  bis  ability 
to  win.'  But  it's  a  deal  safer  to  bet  on  his  losing,  if  you  can  trust 
your  jockey  to  rope  hiui.  Poor  Joe ! — you  wouldn't  believe  the 
trouble  I've  had  with  him.  He  has  always  been  on  the  square,  he 
maintained.  'Very  well,'  says  I, '  why  should  I  have  any  bother 
about  persuading  you  to  ride  this  race  honest  ?'  '  It  will  be  sell- 
ing the  guv'nor,'  says  he,  pulling  a  melancholy  face.  '  Hang  the 
guv'nor!'  says  I.  'That's  my  tip — straight.  Serves  him  right  for 
trying  to  swindle  the  British  public.  What  can  he  do  to  you? 
Nothing.  You  ride  the  horse  to  win  ;  and  win  it  must  and  shall ; 
what  can  he  complam  of?  Would  he  like  to  have  you  round  on 
him  ?  And  can't  you  have  your  excuse  ready  ?  Tell  him  yon  meant 
to  pull  the  horse,  but  that  it  got  the  mastery  of  you  at  the  finish 
— anything  you  like;  do  you  think  he  would  dare  to  say  a  word? 
Not  he !'  Goodness  me,  the  trouble  I  had  to  get  a  jock  to  promise 
to  ride  fair,  who  had  been  up  till  now  as  innocent  as  a  babe — ac- 
cording to  his  own  account !  But  I  did  it.  I've  got  Joe  Cantly 
as  safe  as  the  bank.  And  it  isn't  only  the  four  thousand  to  noth- 
ing the  horse  wins — though  that  is  a  tidy  little  sum  in  itself.  I've 
got  him,  I  tell  you — he  won't  play  hanky-panky  with  me." 

She  had  been  becoming  more  and  more  vehement,  and  her  eyes 
were  sparkling. 

"  I  can  see  his  face.  Charlie  Bernard  is  the  worst  loser  I  ever 
saw.  I  hope  the  bar-maid  will  be  with  him — that  would  be  best 
of  all ;  and  of  course  he'll  be  pretending  that  he  is  cock-sure  Mas- 
ter of  Roy  will  come  romping  in — perhaps  he'll  be  backing  him 
for  a  little  bit — just  to  show  off — and  make  people  certain  that 
everything  is  fair  and  straight.  Then  he'll  watch  them  come 
sweeping  along — quite  indifferently,  you  know — oh  yes,  quite  in- 
differently— until  the  crowd  takes  up  the  cry — 'Master  of  Roy! 
Master  of  Roy  !'  —  my  heavens,  I  can  see  his  face  this  mo- 
ment!" 

In  her  vehemence  she  snapped  in  two  the  paper-cutter  she  was 
holding  in  her  hands;  she  flung  the  fragments  in  the  fire.  And 
then  she  turned  angrily  towards  her  companion. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak?  Good  heavens,  man,  you  are  as  bad 
as  the  jock  !     Haven't  you  got  anything  to  say  ?" 

Thus  admonished,  Fred  Foster  put  aside  his  cigar  for  the  mo- 
ment ;  he  did  not  seem  in  an  alert  mood. 

"  It  will  be  a  facer  for  Charlie  Bernard,"  he  said. 


A   KNELL   OF   DOOil.  403 

*'  A  facer !"  she  repeated,  scornfully.  "  It  will  be  eternal  smash 
— that's  more  like  it.  And  you  think  he  will  be  able  to  weisjh  in 
on  settling  day?  I  think  not.  I  think  there  will  be  a  few  little 
arrangements  and  some  trifling  arrears.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  should 
like  to  see  some  day — Charlie  Bernard  presenting  himself  with 
his  jockey  at  the  scales,  and  having  slipped  before  his  nose  a  nice 
little  telegram  from  Messrs.  Wcatherby  to  the  Clerk  of  the  Course, 
saying  that  until  the  previous  forfeits  are  paid,  Mr.  Bernard  had 
better  return  to  his  own  humble  domicile.  That's  what  thev  call 
a  denouement ;  and  home  he  goes,  horse  and  jock  and  all,  and 
beats  the  bar-maid  out  of  spite.  Well,  I  can't  talk  about  it  any 
more  just  now — it  kindles  me  up  a  bit  too  much.  Talk  about 
something  else.     Where's  your  wife?" 

"I  told  you,"  he  said,  rather  sulkily.  "She  is  staying  with  her 
father  in  Buckinghamshire." 

"  Does  he  believe  you're  a  dead  and  buried  corpse  ?" 
"  No,  of  course  not.     What  had  he  to  do  with  it  ?" 
"  It  was  a  pretty  dangerous  prank  to  play,  ray  friend." 
"I  was  desperate,"  he  mumbled.    "  And  it  served  my  turn  any- 
way.    It's  wonderful  how  amenable  people  become  when  you  can 
show  them  a  bit  of  the  ready  in  your  hand.     I  might  have  had 
more,  too,  but  for  the  little  chap  dying — another  stroke  of  bad 
luck;  then  she  threw  the  whole  thing  up,  and  that  game  was 
played  out.     But  it  served  me  at  the  time." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  in  a  mocking  way,  "  there's  nothing  I  like  so 
much  to  see  as  displays  of  natural  affection.  It's  so  awfully  inno- 
cent and  nice.  I  remember  when  I  met  you  at  Scarborough,  I 
couldn't  help  laughing  when  you  told  me  you  were  a  papa.  Mas- 
ter Freddie  Foster  a  papa  f  And  I  wondered  how  you  would  sup- 
port the  character.  But  I  suppose  you  really  were  sorry  when 
the  boy  died  —  when  you  found  you  couldn't  screw  any  more 
money  out  of  your  father-in-law." 

"  You  may  as  well  leave  my  domestic  relations  alone — they've 
got  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  ill-tempered  about  it,"  she  said,  with  an 
affectation  of  gaycty.  "Come,  li-t's  hear  wiiat  you're  going  to  do 
when  the  great  haul  comes  off.  Settles  up  all  round,  go  down  and 
pacify  the  old  man,  turn  farmer  and  grow  mangold  ?  Really,  I 
don't  think  you  could  do  better.  You'll  never  do  much  at  the 
great  game.     You  get  frightened.     Here,  when  you  could  get  on 


404  SABINA  ZEMBEA. 

Master  of  Roy  at  100  to  8,  you  were  still  hesitating  about  every 
miserable  fiver — " 

"  Well,  there's  no  more  hesitation  now,"  said  he,  rather  blankly. 
"  Every  farthing  I  could  beg  or  borrow  is  launched  in  this  swim  ; 
and  I  must  say  Johnny  Russell  stood  by  me  like  a  man.  Deane, 
too — well,  it's  wonderful  how  they  believe  in  you  when  you  can 
put  your  hand  in  your  pocket  and  show  them  a  few  sovereigns." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  then,  when  it  comes  oS  ?"  she  re- 
peated.    "  Is  it  to  be  the  same  old  game  ?" 

"The  first  thing  is  this,"  said  he.  "I've  had  a  pretty  baddisli 
time  of  it  for  the  last  year  or  eighteen  months — a  rat-in-a-drain- 
pipe  sort  of  existence.  Well,  when  I  find  myself  on  my  legs  again, 
I  think  I  shall  be  entitled  to  a  little  amusement — " 

"And  there's  only  the  one  place  in  Europe  for  that;"  said  she, 
promptly,  "  and  that's  Monte  Carlo.  Did  you  ever  find  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  hang  heavy  on  your  hands  there  ?  I  never  did.  In 
the  daytime  walks  and  drives  in  that  delicious  air — or  boating — 
or  pigeon-shooting  for  you  ;  music  in  the  afternoon  ;  promenade 
concerts  in  the  evening;  watching  the  tables,  and  putting  on  a 
five-franc  piece  now  and  again  just  for  fun.  The  hotels  are  not 
dear;  you  meet  the  most  interesting  people — well,  I  call  it  just  a 
heavenly  place,  if  you  have  strength  of  neck  enough  to  keep  back 
from  gambling.  And  I  thank  a  merciful  Providence  for  having 
screwed  on  my  head  pretty  straight." 

"  Are  you  going  ?" 

She  laughed. 

"Yes — in  one  of  two  capacities.  If  everything  comes  off  all 
right — well,  it  won't  be  quite  a  fortune  for  me,  for  my  bet  of  four 
thousand  to  nothing  with  Joe  Cantly  will  have  to  come  out  of  it; 
but  it  will  be  a  tidy  sum  ;  and  I  shall  treat  myself  to  a  bit  of  a 
spree.  Then  take  it  the  other  way.  Supposing  that  my  faithful 
jock  should,  after  all,  play  the  rogue,  or  supposing  that  Master  of 
Roy  should  come  lumbering  along  the  Carholme  Mile  at  the  tail- 
end  of  the  lot — " 

"  Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  your  talking  like  that !"  he  said,  testily. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  kind  of  compassionate  scorn. 

"You  haven't  got  the  nerve  of  a  mouse — unless  when  you're 
half  stupefied  with  chloroform,  or  whatever  it  is  you're  killing 
yourself  with.  Well,  I  like  to  face  things.  I  consider  myself  rath- 
er a  woman  of  business,  don't  you  know.    And  you  may  be  sure 


A    KXELL    OF   DOO^kl.  405 

tliat  I  have  made  my  little  dispositions ;  so  that  if  by  some  hor- 
rible mischance  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  I  sha'n't  be  quite 
dead-broke.  Next  Wednesday  will  find  me  at  the  Lord  Warden 
Hotel  at  Dover — I  shall  have  a  telegram  in  the  afternoon — if  it 
is  not  satisfactory — well,  I  vacate  the  premises ;  that's  all." 

She  glanced  at  him  again. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?'' 

"In  that  case?  I  can't  think  of  it!"  he  said,  with  haggard 
eyes.  "I  wish  these  next  few  days  were  over.  It's  maddening 
■work,  waiting  on  and  on ;  and  you  can't  drive  the  hours  a  bit 
faster.  It's  at  night  that  it's  most  horrible — I  don't  believe  I 
ever  sleep  more  than  half  an  hour  at  a  time ;  and  every  time  I 
wake  it's  with  a  start,  and  a  fancy  that  some  one  is  in  the  room 
bringing  some  frightful  news." 

"And  yet  you  go  on  taking  that  beastly  stuff!"  she  said. 

"If  I  didn't,  I  shouldn't  get  any  sleep  at  all,"  be  answered, 
gloomily.    "But  this  won't  last." 

"No,  it  won't,"  she  said,  significantly. 

"  I  mean  that  after  next  Wednesday  there  will  be  no  need  of 
it.  I  shall  pull  round  after  that — get  away  somewhere — take 
more  exercise,  and  that  kind  of  thing.  It  is  merely  anxiety  that 
has  been  a  little  too  much  for  my  nerves — there  will  be  no  anx- 
iety at  Monte  Carlo,  if  I  should  follow  you  there — except  over  a 
five-franc  piece,  as  you  suggest." 

"I  wouldn't  advise  your  going  much  to  the  tables,  even  as  an 
onlooker,"  she  observed. 

"  Did  I  risk  a  single  napoleon  when  I  was  over  there  that  last 
time?"  he  demanded. 

"  No,  probably  not;  but  there  were  reasons  why  you  should 
save  up  every  farthing.  So  you  are  tliiuking  of  coming  over  to 
Monte  Carlo  too?  That  is,  of  course,  if  we  pull  this  thing  o(T 
successfully.     But  if  not?" 

"  It's  no  use  talking  about  that,"  he  said,  peevishly. 

"Haven't  you  the  courage  to  face  the  possihilily  ?"  she  said, 
as  a  sort  of  taunt. 

"  You  have — because  you  arc  perfectly  certain  that  ^fa'^tor  of 
Roy  is  going  to  win.  You  can  face  twenty  dozen  possihilities 
when  you  don't  believe  in  them.  But  what  is  the  use  of  talking 
about  them  ?" 

"  They  may  be  hocussing  the  horse  at  tliis  very  minute,"  she  said. 


406  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  Why,  tbey  are  taking  precautions  about  him  as  if  he  were  first 
favorite  for  the  Derby — it's  quite  notorious.  Part  of  Charlie  Ber- 
nard's game, of  course;  the  public  are  sure  of  a  winner  this  time, 
and  they  are  to  be  led  on.  A  hundred  to  fourteen — it's  swinging 
odds  to  have  to  pay  up." 

"  Yes,  but  suppose  the  backers  are  bit,  after  all  ?"  she  insisted, 
"  What  will  you  do  then,  my  poor  Freddie  ?  What  refuge  will 
you  fly  to  from  the  wratli  to  come  ?" 

"  It's  my  last  chance  in  England,"  lie  said,  gloomily.  "  If  it 
doesn't  go  right,  then  I'm  off  for  good.  I  suppose  Jack  Russell 
would  pay  my  passage  to  Australia." 

"  Australia?"  she  repeated.  "  What  good  would  you  do  there? 
In  Australia  they  want  people  who  can  work." 

Then  suddenly  she  altered  her  tone. 

"  Come,  come,  I  won't  torment  you  any  more.  I  only  wanted 
to  see  how  far  down  into  your  boots  you  could  get,  for  you  can 
get  farther  than  any  human  creature  I  know.  Wake  up,  man ! 
What's  the  matter  with  you?  Or  what's  the  matter  with  the 
champagne  that  you  won't  touch  it?  Has  it  gone  flat?  Never 
mind,  let's  see  if  we  can't  find  something  more  to  your  mind." 

She  went  to  the  cellaret  in  the  sideboard,  and  got  out  some 
brandy,  and  brought  over  the  cigars. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  help  yourself.  And  I  will  make  my  humble 
apologies  for  frightening  you.  Of  course  it's  all  right.  Did  a 
jockey  ever  get  such  a  chance  before? — four  thousand  pounds  for 
riding  honest !  Of  course  you'll  see  Master  of  Roy  come  romping 
in — or,  rather,  you'll  hear — for  I  don't  suppose  you  are  going  down 
to  Lincoln,  are  you?  And  don't  imagine  that  I  mean  to  cross  the 
Channel  if  it  comes  off  all  right — not  at  once,  I  mean.  Oh  no! 
I'm  coming  back  to  London.  I  want  to  hear  how  things  are  go- 
ing with  Master  Charlie.  I  should  like  to  take  a  run  down  to 
Doncaster,  and  go  driving  about,  on  the  chance  of  seeing  the  bar- 
maid. Not  that  I  care  a  pin-point — a  bar-maid  ! — he's  welcome ; 
and  so  is  she — to  all  the  diamonds  she'll  ever  get  out  of  the  South 
African  mines.  Don't  they  want  crushers  for  that  work? — she 
might  go  out  there  and  use  her  feet — saving  of  labor.  And  if 
Charlie  Bernard  can't  guess  who  landed  him,  he's  a  bigger  fool 
than  I  take  him  to  be — and  that  is  something  considerable." 

"  I  wish  next  Wednesday  was  come  and  gone,"  Fred  Foster 
said. 


A   KNELL    OF    DOOM.  407 

She  regarded  him  with  rather  a  contemptuous  glance. 

"  Better  go  home  and  sleep  till  then,"  was  her  curt  advice. 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  he  said. 

And  then  he  rose  to  go. 

"  Don't  you  come  to  see  me  again  until  the  race  has  been 
run,"  said  she.  "  If  it  goes  all  right,  I  will  hurry  back  to  town 
at  once — you  will  find  me  here.  And  until  then  mind  you  keep 
a  quiet  tongue  in  your  head." 

She  pressed  another  cigar  on  him,  and  he  left,  making  away  for 
his  obscure  lodgings  in  Fetter  Lane. 

IJow  these  intervening  days  passed  he  himself  probably  knew 
but  little.  The  few  companions  whom  he  casually  met  had  got 
an  inkling  that  he  stood  to  lose  or  win  everything  on  the  issue  of 
the  Lincolnshire  Handicap ;  and  those  of  them  who  had  any  inter- 
est in  him  hoped  that,  if  he  was  backing  the  favorite,  he  had  taken 
care  to  hedge  a  little,  for  Charlie  Bernard's  phenomenal  run  of 
luck  had  of  late  deserted  him  in  a  remarkable  manner.  And  they 
accepted  for  what  they  were  worth  Foster's  assurances  that  it  was 
only  persistent  sleeplessness  that  had  driven  him  to  chloral,  chlo- 
rodyne,  morphia,  or  whatever  was  the  remedy  he  sought.  It  was 
but  a  temporary  aid  ;  as  soon  as  he  could  get  away  he  would  bo 
all  right  again.  In  the  mean  time  he  was  a  pitiable-looking  object 
— pallid,  nerveless,  apprehensive,  bemused,  and  hollow-cheeked. 
He  was  "keeping  himself  up,"  he  said,  until  he  could  get  away. 

The  Wednesday  came.  In  the  morning  papers  Master  of  lioy 
was  still  quoted  as  first  favorite,  and  the  prophets  were  almost 
unanimous  in  approving  the  public  fancy.  Mrs.  Fairservice  was 
certainly  confident;  for  in  the  simple  gaycty  of  her  heart — and 
without  rhyme  or  reason — she  sent  him  a  telegram  from  Dover: 
"  Keep  up  your  pecker,  old  man."  He  drank  some  brandy,  and 
smoked  hard,  to  make  the  hours  go  by. 

Long  before  the  lunir  appointed  for  the  race,  he  went  out  and 
down  into  the  Strand,  where  he  kept  aimlessly  and  feverishly  walk- 
ing to  and  fro,  gazing  blankly  into  shop-windows,  or  reading  play- 
bills at  the  theatre  doors.  But  as  the  time  drew  near  these  wan- 
derings were  more  and  more  circumscribed,  until  he  hardly  went 
more  than  a  stone's-throw  cast  or  west  of  the  window  of  a  certain 
news  agency.  A  small  crowd  had  already  collected  there  on  the 
pavement,  hanging  loosely  about,  and  evidently  waiting  for  the 
news.     Uc  kept  away  from  those  people  as  well  as   he  could, 


408  SAEINA    ZEMBRA. 

though  his  eyes  would  incessantly  go  back  to  the  window,  with 
far  more  dread  than  hope,  so  terribly  anxious  was  he.  Then  a 
large  white  sheet  was  put  up,  and  a  murmur  went  through  the 
crowd.  He  walked  quickly  forward.  What  was  this  sound  that 
chilled  him  to  the  heart  ?  "Stagdyke  !"  said  one;  and  "  Stagdyke !" 
they  seemed  all  to  be  repeating. 

Another  step  forward,  and  the  great  splashed  letters  in  ink 
were  only  too  terribly  legible — staring  him  in  the  face.  This  was 
what  his  burning  and  throbbing  eyes  beheld : 

LINCOLN    HANDICAP. 

Stagdyke 1 

Kebellion 2 

Master  of  Roy 3 

The  small  crowd  melted  away  almost  immediately ;  he  was 
left  standing  on  the  pavement,  bewildered,  incapable  of  move- 
ment, not  even  perceiving  that  he  was  in  the  way  of  the  passers- 
by.  It  seemed  as  if  he  hardly  knew  what  had  befallen  him. 
Then,  in  a  stunned  and  blind  way,  he  managed  to  cross  the  busy 
thoroughfare,  and  entered  a  public-house,  where  he  said  he  would 
like  to  sit  down  for  a  moment.  They  brought  him  a  chair  at 
once ;  and  he  had  just  taken  hold  of  the  back  of  it  when  a  giddi- 
ness came  over  him,  and  he  sank  helplessly  to  the  floor. 

It  was  but  for  a  second.  The  potman  helped  him  to  his  feet 
again,  and  brushed  the  sawdust  from  his  coat,  and  Foster  seemed 
to  try  to  pull  himself  together.  He  did  not  sit  down.  He  or- 
dered a  bottle  of  brandy,  for  which  he  paid,  and  then  asked  them 
to  get  him  a  four-wheeled  cab.  He  gave  the  cabman  his  address 
in  Fetter  Lane,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  left  at  the  door  of  his 
lodgings. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

NIGHT  FALLS. 

About  mid- day  on  the  following  Saturday,  Mr.  John  Scott 
called  at  these  lodgings  in  Fetter  Lane,  and  was  admitted  by  the 
landlady,  who  forthwith  began  her  protestations  and  complaints 
and  entreaties. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  no  rent ;  I  want  to  see  him  out  o'  my  'ouse, 


NIGHT   FALLS,  409 

that's  what  I  want;  I  have  my  other  lodgers  to  consider;  and 
every  one  of  us  expecting  to  be  burned  alive  in  our  beds  some 
night.  You  said  as  you  was  going  to  take  him  away  yesterday, 
and  the  day  before — " 

"  I'll  get  him  away  as  soon  as  I  can,"  the  big,  good-natured- 
looking  man  said,  taking  her  remonstrances  quite  as  a  matter  of 
course.     "  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  has  never  stirred  out  ?" 

"Stirred  out?  Where  do  you  think  he  would  get  the  drink, 
then  ?  And  Td  have  kep'  him  out,  but  I  couldn't  lock  the  door 
against  the  other  lodgers ;  and  would  he  give  up  his  latch-key  ? 
— not  he — he's  that  cunning;  for  all  he  doesn't  know  no  more 
what  he's  doing  than  the  babe  unborn.  He  was  crying  yesterday ! 
lor',  such  a  silly ;  said  his  mother  died  this  time  last  year — what 
do  I  know  about  his  mother,  or  care  either  ?  I  don't  believe  a 
word  of  it — it  was  all  a  trying  on,  to  get  Polly  to  go  out  for 
some  more  gin.  Well,  what  I  say  is  this — I'll  stand  it  no  longer, 
and  if  you  don't  get  him  out  o'  this  'ouse  I'll  get  in  a  p'leeceinan 
as  will.  We  don't  want  to  be  burned  in  our  beds — and  I  don't 
ask  for  no  rent — I  want  him  out  o'  this  'ouso  afore  he  sets  it  on 
fire — that's  what  I  want  and  mean  to  have." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  John  Scott  said,  suavely.  "  I'll  get 
him  away  if  I  can."  And  therewith  he  proceeded  to  climb  the 
narrow  and  dusky  stairs,  slowly  and  cautiously,  as  became  one  of 
his  bulk. 

When  he  opened  the  door  of  the  small  apartment,  he  found 
that  the  blind  of  the  solitary  window  was  down,  and  the  gas 
burning.  Foster  lay  at  full  length  on  the  bed,  his  clothes  on,  his 
face  downward  on  his  hands.  John  Scott  went  forward  and 
touched  his  shoulder,  and  then  shook  him  slightly. 

"Here,  man,  wake  up!  Haven't  you  come  to  your  senses 
yet?" 

Another  shake,  and  Foster  slowly  turned  and  raised  his  head, 
and  regarded  his  visitor  with  dazed,  stupefied  eyes  that  yet  had 
some  vague  look  of  terror  in  them. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  he  said,  in  a  thick  voice. 

"Sit  up  and  I'll  tell  you,"  Scott  said,  and  he  pulled  him  up  by 
the  shoulders.  "  I've  been  trying  these  two  days  to  get  some- 
thing hammered  into  your  hoad,  and  it  hasn't  been  much  use.  I 
wonder  if  you'll  understand  now.  Do  you  know  that  there's  a 
warrant  out  against  you  ?" 
18 


410  SABINA   ZEMIiRA. 

*'  I  don't  care,"  he  said,  wearily ;  "  they  can  take  what  they 
like — I've  nothing — " 

"  Bless  my  soul,  can't  you  understand  the  difference  between  a 
writ  and  a  warrant?  It's  a  warrant,  I  tell  you ;  and  the  warrant- 
officer  is  on  the  lookout  for  you.  Don't  you  know  you  are 
wanted  for  that  affair  at  the  American  Bar  ?" 

The  big  Yorkshireman  eyed  him  curiously;  but  there  was  no 
kind  of  intelligence  in  the  vacuous,  hopeless,  pallid  face.  All 
that  Foster  said — with  a  sort  of  feeble  impatience — was, 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ?     What  time  of  the  night  is  it?" 

"Time  of  the  night?  It's  the  middle  of  the  day,  man !  Here, 
I'll  put  out  the  gas — the  smell  of  it  is  sickening — and  let  some 
light  into  the  room." 

He  did  as  he  said,  Foster  following  his  movements  with  listless 
observation. 

"What  day  is  it?"  he  asked,  when  the  dull  London  light 
streamed  into  the  room. 

"  I  like  that !"  the  other  said.  "  Don't  know  the  day  of  the 
week  ?     It's  Saturday,  then." 

"Saturday?"  Foster  repeated,  vacantly;  and  yet  he  seemed  to 
be  thinking  too.     "Then  yesterday  was  the  19th?" 

"No  mistake  about  that." 

"The  19th,"  he  said,  absently;  and  he  was  staring  right  be- 
fore him,  and  taking  no  heed  of  his  visitor.  "That  was  the  day 
I  was  to  start  afresh — and  I  was  to  go  down  to  Missenden — yes- 
terday, was  it  ? — gone  by — gone  by." 

John  Scott  came  over  to  him. 

"  Look  here,  Freddie,  you've  got  into  trouble,  though  yon  don't 
seem  to  know  it;  and  I  mean  to  do  the  best  I  can  for  you ;  but 
it's  no  good  unless  you  try  to  pull  yourself  together.  Do  you 
understand  ?" 

Well,  his  intelligence  seemed  to  grasp  this  idea. 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  all  right,"  said  he,  with  incoherent  earnest- 
ness. "That's  all  right.  You're  a  good  fellow,  Scott.  I'm 
listening.  All  I  want  is  a  drop  of  something  to  steady  my 
nerves." 

He  rose,  and  with  trembling  gait  was  making  for  the  cupboard, 
when  the  Yorkshireman  interposed  his  capacious  bulk. 

"  No  you  don't.  Now  that  I've  caught  you  in  a  half-sensible 
state,  you've  got  to  keep  so  until  we  decide  what  has  to  be  done." 


NIGHT    FALLS.  411 

"It's  no  use,  then,"  Foster  said,  helplessly,  "  I  can't  listen  to 
you.  I  feel  like  death.  I  wish  you'd  go  away  and  leave  me  to 
myself." 

His  visitor  hesitated.     Perhaps  what  he  said  was  true. 

"  Well,  one  nip,"  he  said,  and  stood  aside. 

Foster  went  to  the  cupboard,  quickly  poured  out  half  a  tum- 
blerful of  some  white  fluid,  and  drank  it  oflE  before  the  other  could 
interpose.  Then  he  went  back  to  the  bed  and  sate  down.  It  seemed 
to  concern  him  little  now  what  his  visitor  had  to  say. 

"That  was  a  stiffish  dose,  but  I  hope  it  will  pull  you  together; 
you'll  have  to  have  your  wits  about  you,  unless  you  want  to  be 
laid  by  the  heels,"  Scott  said.  "  So  you  understand,  now,  that 
there  is  a  warrant  out  against  you,  and  that  you'll  have  to  get  clear 
away  from  London,  like  greased  lightning,  or  you'll  be  up  at 
Marlborough  Street?" 

"Oil,  what  are  you  talking  about?"  Foster  said,  y)eovishly,  and 
yet  in  an  absent  way ;  he  did  not  seem  to  be  paying  much  atten- 
tion. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  believe  you  know  one  thing  that  has 
occurred  during  these  three  days  !"  John  Scott  exclaimed.  "  Bo 
you  mean  to  say  you  can't  remember  what  happened  on  Wednes- 
day night  at  the  American  Bar?'' 

"What  American  Bar?"  he  said,  indifferently. 

"  At  the  Palladium.  Well,  perhaps  not.  But  you  seemed  to 
understand  yesterday  when  I  was  here.  I  wonder  w  hut  her  you'll 
understand  now — sufficient  to  make  you  get  up  and  quit  this 
place.  You  mean  to  say  you  haven't  the  least  recollection  of  the 
whole  thing — coming  into  the  American  Bar  with  Jitn  Deanc — 
quarrelling  with  him  about  paying  for  the  drinks — and  making 
fiuch  a  row  that  the  bar-man  had  to  interfere?" 

"Oh,  well,  I  dare  say  I  had  a  drop.  It's  all  right,"  he  mnt- 
tercd. 

"It  isn't  all  right!  I  suppose  you  don't  remember  catching  up 
the  knife  the  bar-man  had  been  cutting  lemon-peel  with — will  that 
bring  you  to  your  senses?  I  don't  know — at  least,  I  don't  want 
to  be  certain — whether  you  struck  him  with  the  knife,  or  whether 
lie  stuuil)led  against  it  in  the  snufflf ;  but  anyhow  we  got  you 
hustled  out  and  into  a  cab,  and  Jim  Dcane  had  suflicient  nnus  to 
give  them  your  Wellington  Street  address  when  he  said  you  would 
answer  to  the  charge.     Now  do  you  understand  ? — that  there's  a 


412  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

warrant  out  against  you — and  I  suppose  the  charge  is  cutting  and 
•wounding,  or  whatever  the  lawyers  call  it — and  unless  you  quit 
out  of  this  place  at  once  they'll  be  down  on  you." 

The  warning  seemed  to  make  little  impression. 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  he  said,  listlessly.  "It's  all  over  with  me 
now.  I'm  done  for — they  may  hang  me  if  they  like.  The  luck's 
been  against  me — it's  no  use  trying  any  longer.  I  thought  I  was 
going  to  have  one  more  chance ;  and  yesterday  was  the  day — the 
19th  of  March  it  was  my  mother  died — she  was  the  only  one  that 
ever  cared  for  me — and  when  she  died  it  was  all  up  with  me — the 
19th  of  March — that  was  the  day  I  was  going  to  start  afresh — if 
I  had  had  this  one  more  chance.  But  the  luck's  been  dead  against 
me." 

"  Look  here,"  said  his  visitor,  roughly,  "  instead  of  maundering 
on  like  that,  you'd  better  wake  up  and  settle  where  you  can  hide 
yourself  for  a  time.  Have  you  any  friends  abroad  ?  Or  where 
was  it  you  retired  to  in  Yorkshire  ?" 

He  did  not  answer.  He  was  vacantly  staring  at  nothing ;  and 
the  spirit  he  had  drunk  seemed  to  be  rendering  him  more  and 
more  maudlin. 

"  I  meant  to  have  gone  down  to  Missenden,"  he  continued,  in 
his  husky  voice,  with  his  head  hanging  down  on  his  chest.  "  I 
meant  to  have  taken  an  oath  on  my  mother's  grave — if  I  had  got 
this  last  chance — and  I'd  have  tried  to  make  up  to  them  for  all 
that's  past.  Well,  it's  no  use  now.  The  game's  played  out.  It's 
all  over  with  me." 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do,  then  ?"  Mr.  Scott  asked,  with 
obvious  sarcasm.  "  Sit  here  till  the  warrant-officer  comes?  Then 
you're  up  at  Marlborough  Street.  Who's  going  to  become  your 
bail,  do  you  think  ?  Perhaps  you  consider  your  own  recognizances 
would  be  enough  ?  I  don't  imagine  the  magistrate  would,  though. 
I  don't  think  prison  life  would  suit  yon,  ray  lad,  in  this  cold 
weather;  and  there  would  be  mighty  little  Scotch  whiskey  going. 
Come,  come,  man,  wake  up,  and  clear  out  of  this  neighborhood,  to 
begin  with — whatever  you  do  next." 

He  pulled  him  from  the  bed  on  to  his  legs;  and  Foster  obedi- 
ently began  to  smooth  his  ruffled  clothes  and  get  ready  for  de- 
parture. 

"  What  am  I  going  to  do  next?"  he  said,  in  the  midst  of  these 
hap  -  hazard  preparations.     "  What  do  you  think  I  should  do  ? 


NIGUT   FALLS.  413 

What  is  there  left  me  to  do  ?  "Well,  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you. 
But  there's  a  way  of  making  it  up  to  them.  I  wish  I  had  done 
it  before,  when  my  mother  died ;  but  I  thought  I  had  one  more 
chance.  Yes,  you'll  see.  My  wife  was  frightened  that  time  I 
went  down.  I  said,  '  You're  a  strong  woman,  but  you're  not 
strong  enough  for — this.'  " 

"  What  are  you  blethering  about  now  ?"  the  blunt  Yorkshire- 
man  said.  "  Come,  let's  settle  where  you  will  go  to,  to  begin  with, 
when  you  leave  this  house.  Wandering  about  London  streets  isn't 
the  safest  thing  for  you  at  present." 

"  What  o'clock  is'^it?"  he  asked. 

"Just  after  two." 

"Then  I  know  where  I  am  going,"  he  said,  witli  a  kind  of 
maudlin  determination.  "  You  come  up  to  Holborn  with  me,  and 
you'll  see." 

"  Oh,  you  know,  do  you?     Well,  that's  a  comfort,  at  any  rate." 

Just  as  they  were  about  to  leave,  Foster  turned  and  went  to  the 
cupboard.     His  companion  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  No,  not  one  drop  !" 

"  Oil,  let  me  alone  !"  Foster  said,  peevishly,  and  he  tried  to  shake 
off  the  hold.     "  It's  medicine  I  want." 

"  Let  me  see,  then." 

He  opened  the  cupboard  and  took  out  a  small  phial,  which  he 
instantly  put  in  his  pocket. 

"  What  are  you  taking  medicine  for?" 

"  W^hen  I  can't  get  sleep." 

"What?  Sleeplessness?  Is  that  what  ails  you  ?  You've  been 
asleep  for  three  days  !" 

"  It  cures  other  things,"  Foster  said,  gloomily.  "  Cures  every- 
thing, for  the  matter  of  that." 

"That's  something  like  a  medicine  now,"  Scott  said,  encourag- 
ingly. "Can  it  cure  impecuniosity  ?  for  that's  what  most  of  us 
are  suffering  from  since  Joe  Cantly  roped  Master  of  lioy — the  in- 
fernal whelp  !  Well,  they'll  stop  his  playing  that  little  trick  again, 
or  I'm  mistaken." 

They  were  getting  down  the  dark  staircase  by  this  tiino.  Wliou 
they  got  outside,  Foster  shivcrL'd  with  the  cold,  and  his  shaking 
legs  could  scarcely  carry  him  along.  He  seemed  ratlier  terrilicd, 
too,  at  the  number  of  faces  regarding  him  ;  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  pavement,  and  answered  his  con)|)aiiion  iti  monosyllables. 


414  SABINA   ZEMBEA. 

As  they  were  walking  along  Holborn,  Foster  suddenly  stopped 
in  front  of  an  archway,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  his  companion. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  with  averted  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  Scott  said. 

"I  am  going  down  into  the  country,"  he  answered;  but  his 
maudlin  resolve  had  now  dropped  into  a  kind  of  listlessness. 

"Going  into  a  public-house,  you  mean." 

"There  is  an  omnibus  starts  from  here  at  three,"  be  said,  with- 
out taking  any  offence. 

John  Scott  glanced  through  the  archway,  and  saw  that  in  the 
middle  of  the  court-yard  of  the  old-fashioned  inn  there  was  un- 
doubtedly an  omnibus  standing,  though  as  yet  the  horses  were  not 
put  to. 

"  Oh,  I  see.  The  one  that  goes  down  into  Buckinghamshire? 
So  you  are  going  to  your  own  people  down  there?  Well,  now, 
that's  very  sensible — the  very  best  thing  you  can  do.  You  be 
quiet  there  for  a  time,  and  pick  yourself  up  again  ;  then  you'll  be 
able  to  look  round  and  see  what  should  come  next.  The  very 
best  thing  you  can  do.  Good-by,  old  chap,  and  Jim  Deane  and 
I  will  see  whether  we  can't  square  that  blessed  bar-man." 

So  they  shook  hands,  and  John  Scott  went  on  bis  way,  and  Fos- 
ter, with  a  strangely  apprehensive  look — as  if  he  feared  to  meet 
some  familiar  face — passed  through  the  court-yard,  and  entered 
the  tap-room,  where  he  sate  down  in  a  dusky  corner,  to  wait  until 
the  omnibus  was  ready  to  start. 

In  due  course  of  time  the  handful  of  passengers — mostly  elder- 
ly country-folk  burdened  with  innumerable  baskets  and  parcels 
and  packages  — who  were  going  by  the  omnibus  were  summoned 
to  take  their  places ;  and  Foster  rose  and  went  out  too.  The  first 
person  he  saw  was  the  driver — an  old  and  familiar  acquaintance 
of  his  from  boyhood  upward.  The  stout,  rubicund,  wholesome- 
lookuig  man  seemed  much  surprised  and  concerned. 

"Lor'  a'  mussy,  Mr.  Fred,  how  poorly  you  do  look,  to  be  sure. 
Be  you  going  with  us? — ay? — and  the  box-seat  at  your  will  and 
pleasure ;  but  you'll  take  a  drop  o'  something  before  ye  start,  just 
to  keep  the  cold  out,  won't  ye?" 

"I'm  going  inside,"  Foster  said,  shivering  a  little;  and  he  got 
into  the  vehicle,  and  went  up  to  the  farthermost  corner,  where  he 
huddled  himself  together.  If  any  of  the  other  passengers  knew 
who  he  was  they  did  not  speak;  he  had  not  even  glanced  at  them. 


NIGUT   FALLS.  415 

And  presently,  no  doubt,  they  thought  that  the  sickly-looking 
young  man  in  the  corner  was  asleep,  for  apparently  his  eyes  were 
closed. 

The  old  omnibus  jogged  placidly  along,  away  out  by  Acton  and 
Ealing  and  Hanwell,  stopping  now  and  again  to  deliver  its  parcels 
at  the  wayside  houses.  At  Uxbridge  there  was  a  longer  halt,  and 
here  Foster  got  out  and  went  into  the  tavern,  and  drank  some  hot 
gin-and-vvater.  He  did  not,  according  to  usual  custom,  ask  the 
driver  to  join  him ;  he  went  back  to  his  corner,  and  to  his  stupe- 
fied meditations.     The  wintry  afternoon  was  darkening  now. 

They  went  on  by  Chalfont  St.  Peter's  and  Chalfont  St.  Giles's. 
The  lamp  inside  the  omnibus  had  been  lighted  by  this  time,  and 
the  dull,  orange  glow  fell  on  the  sallow  and  sickly  features  of  the 
solitary  traveller,  who  seemed  to  huddle  himself  away  from  his 
fellow-passengers.  At  Amersham,  however,  he  again  got  out,  and 
had  some  more  gin,  the  landlady,  to  whom  he  was  known,  express- 
ing the  greatest  concern  over  his  altered  appearance.  Indeed,  he 
seemed  scarcely  to  understand  what  he  was  doing ;  and  there  was 
a  furtive  look  about  his  eyes — dazed  as  they  were — as  if  he  thought 
he  was  being  watched. 

At  length,  about  nine  o'clock  at  night,  he  arrived  at  his  destina- 
tion. But  he  did  not  go  on  to  his  father's  house;  he  alighted  at 
the  inn  at  which  the  omnibus  stopped,  and  went  inside,  and  asked 
the  people,  who  knew  him  very  well,  for  a  bedroom  for  the  night. 

"Why,  Mr.  Foster,  hain't  you  going  on  home?"  the  landlord 
said,  in  great  astonishment. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  he  said,  huskily.  "  I  don't  want  to  disturb  them. 
I  don't  want  them  to  know  I'm  in  Missendcn — do  you  under- 
stand? I'm  going  out  for  a  while.  Have  the  bed  ready  by  the 
time  I  get  back." 

"And  about  supper,  sir?"  said  the  landlady. 

"I  don't  want  any.  I  haven't  been  very  well.  It's  sleep  I 
want."     And  therewith  he  went  out  into  the  dark  of  the  night. 

But  the  landlord,  who  had  known  the  Foster  family  for  years 
and  years,  was  sorely  disquieted  ;  ho  di<l  not  like  the  look  of  the 
young  man's  appearance  nor  his  strange  manner;  and  after  a  hur- 
ried consultation  with  his  wife  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went  (juiek- 
ly  out  into  the  darkness.  He  could  see  the  way  that  Foster  had 
taken,  and  he  followed,  keeping  a  certain  distance  between  him 
and  the  black  fiijure  ahead.     He  went  down  the  main  thorough- 


416  SABINA    ZEMBEA. 

fare  of  the  village;  then  got  away  from  the  houses;  and  then 
began  to  ascend  the  little  hill  on  which  the  church  is  built.  Here, 
away  from  the  yellow  light  of  the  windows,  one  could  see  better; 
the  stars  overhead  were  clear  ;  there  was  a  crescent  moon,  too,  down 
in  tlie  south ;  the  friendly  watcher  had  no  difficulty  in  following 
the  movements  of  the  young  man,  who  had  awakened  his  suspi- 
cions, if  not  his  alarm.  Then  he  almost  took  shame  on  himself 
when  he  saw  what  happened.  Foster,  feebly  and  slowly — for  he 
seemed  very  weak — went  up  the  steps  of  the  church-yard,  cling- 
ing to  the  hand-rail ;  he  opened  the  little  gate ;  he  went  forward 
— still  more  slowly,  for  there  were  one  or  two  large  yew-trees  here 
that  made  the  place  dark — and  knelt  down  by  a  grave.  It  was  his 
mother's  grave.  And  then,  the  next  moment,  he  had  flung  him- 
self at  full  length  on  the  slab  of  stone,  with  sobs  and  moans  and 
inarticulate  cries,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  The  man  who  wit- 
nessed this  terrible  outburst  of  remorse  and  anguish  withdrew  hur- 
riedly and  stealthily.  When  he  went  back  to  his  wife  he  would 
say  no  word.  He  put  aside  her  questions  ;  but  she  could  see  that 
something  unusual  had  happened  to  him. 

Fred  Foster  came  back  to  the  inn  looking  more  ghastly  than 
ever;  his  eyes  were  sunken,  and  yet  furtively  apprehensive;  his 
face  was  of  an  ashen  gray.  He  said  he  would  go  to  his  room  at 
once  ;  he  asked  for  two  or  three  candles  in  case  he  should  be  sleep- 
less ;  and  then  he  went  up-stairs  and  locked  himself  in. 

"Good-night !"  he  had  said  to  the  girl  who  took  the  candies  up 
to  him :  it  was  his  last  farewell  to  the  world. 

In  the  morning,  both  the  landlord  and  his  wife  were  anxious  to 
be  relieved  of  the  responsibility  of  having  in  their  house  any  one 
who  looked  so  terribly  ill — especially  as  his  own  home  was  but  a 
short  w^ay  ofif;  and  the  former  had  some  idea  of  himself  going 
along  and  informing  old  Mr.  Foster  and  his  daughter-in-law.  And 
then  they  thought  they  would  wait  and  see  what  the  young  man 
had  to  say.  They  waited  in  vain.  They  knocked  at  his  door; 
there  was  no  answer.  They  knocked  again,  and  yet  again  ;  the  si- 
lence that  followed  was  dreadful ;  then,  taking  courage,  they  drove 
in  the  door.  There  was  a  dark  figure  lying  on  the  bed,  a  curious 
odor  in  the  air,  and  an  empty  phial  on  the  dressing-table  at  the 
window.     This,  then,  was  the  end. 

And  yet  a  charitable  view  was  taken  of  the  circumstances  in 
which  the  body  of  this  hapless  mortal  was  found.     It  was  shown 


IN   DARKNESS.  417 

that  he  had  been  dreadfully  ill ;  that  he  suffered  from  sleepless- 
ness; that  the  object  of  his  coming  to  Missenden  was  to  visit  his 
mother's  grave  on  the  anniversary  of  her  deatli — or,  at  least,  on 
the  day  after  that ;  and  it  was  suggested  as  probable  tliat  the  oino- 
tion  and  excitement  of  such  a  visit  had  rendered  him  wakeful  dur- 
ing the  night,  and  that  he  had  taken  an  overdose  of  the  narcotic 
he  had  been  using  for  some  time  before.  So  the  verdict  of  the 
coronor's  jury  was  simply  "Death  by  misadventure;"  and  there 
was  no  reason  why  any  one  should  dispute  it;  the  worthless  life 
had  been  snuffed  out ;  thereafter — silence. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

IN  DARKNESS. 

It  was  more  than  a  year  after  these  occurrences,  and  it  was  on 
the  morning  of  the  Private  View  of  the  Koyal  Academy,  that  Sa- 
bina  was  in  London,  and  in  a  room  in  Janie's  house,  dressing  to 
go  out.  In  fact,  she  was  already  dressed  ;  but  Janie  was  an  assidu- 
ous and  officious  tire-woman,  and  would  hardly  let  her  beloved  Sa- 
ble out  of  her  hands.  Again  she  would  put  straiglit  the  bonnet- 
strings  beneath  the  chin,  and  adjust  the  bit  of  a  veil  ;  and  tlien 
she  had  to  fasten  on,  under  the  throat,  a  little  buutjuet  of  violets 
that  had  been  presented  by  Mr.  Philip. 

"  I'll  show  them  something,"  said  Janic. 

"Show  whom?"  her  visitor  asked. 

"  The  people  at  the  Academy.     I  suppose  there  will  be  Miss , 

and  Mrs. ,  and  the  Swiss -American  girl,  what's  lnr  nanie  ? 

But  Pm  not  afraid — not  a  bit.  Do  you  know,  Sabie,  I  do  btiievc 
black  suits  you  better  than  anything;  and  that's  just  a  love  of  a 
bonnet!  And  I  wisli  you  could  see  for  yourself  how  j)orfi'ctly 
your  dress  tits — I  mean  when  yon  walk  ;  no  credit  ti;  tlitiii  either; 
it  ought  to  be  easy  enough  to  fit  a  figure  like  yours.  Oh,  there 
will  be  plenty  of  fine  gowns  there,  no  duubt;  they  can  alw.ivs  at- 
tract attention  that  way;  that's  what  I  was  saying  to  I'hii  this 
morning.  'They  may  have  as  fine  dresses  as  ever  they  please; 
but  where  is  the  one  that  will  show  a  figure  like  our  S;il)ie's?"' 

"  I  thought  we  were  going  to  see  the  pictures  .'"  Sabina  said, 
innocently. 
18* 


418  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  Until  the  afternoon  ;  then  it's  the  people.  We'll  get  all  the 
stooping  and  crowding  and  worrying  into  corners  over  and  done ; 
and  then  you'll  have  nothing  to  do  bat  see  and  be  seen." 

"For  an  artist's  wife,  Janie,"  her  friend  said,  "you  don't  seem 
to  be  going  to  this  Private  View  in  a  proper  frame  of  mind." 

"  I  see  a  good  many  pictures  in  the  course  of  the  year,"  said 
Janie,  as  she  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  so  that  she  could  scan 
Sabina  from  head  to  foot.  The  result  of  this  examination  was 
obviously  satisfactory.  "Yes.  They  may  have  dresses  as  stylish 
as  ever  they  can  make  them,  but  I  know  who  will  be  the  most 
distinguished-looking  woman  in  that  crowd.  Come  along.  It's 
too  bad  of  Phil  not  to  give  up  one  morning,  but  he's  very  busy ; 
he'll  come  along  as  soon  as  he  can  in  the  afternoon.  And  mind 
you,  Sabie,  you  mustn't  let  any  of  the  people  take  you  away. 
You're  going  with  us,  mind  !" 

"  My  dear  child,  I  hardly  know  a  human  being  in  London  now  I 
I  don't  suppose  there  will  be  a  soul  in  the  place  who  will  remem- 
ber me." 

"  And  a  good  job,  too,"  said  Janie,  stubbornly,  "  for  I  want  you 
all  to  myself." 

They  got  into  the  hansom  that  was  awaiting  them.  It  was  a 
summer-like  morning;  even  here  in  London  the  air  was  quite 
sweet  and  balmy.  They  had  a  pleasant  drive  in  by  Kensington 
Gardens  and  Piccadilly,  and  eventually  reached  Burlington  House 
a  few  minutes  after  eleven. 

As  they  entered  the  vestibule,  Janie  knew  that  her  heart  was 
beating  a  little  more  quickly  than  usual.  She  had  not  heard  from 
Walter  Lindsay  for  a  very  long  time,  and  indeed  had  every  reason 
to  believe  that  he  was  still  abroad ;  but  once  or  twice  the  fancy 
had  struck  her  that  perhaps  he  might,  in  some  unexpected  way, 
turn  up  at  this  Private  View.  And  the  very  first  thing  she  did, 
on  receiving  a  catalogue  from  one  of  the  attendants,  was  to  turn 
quickly  to  the  list  of  exhibitors  at  the  end  of  the  little  volume. 
It  had  always  been  Lindsay's  custom  to  send  in  a  water-color  to 
the  Academy  exhibition,  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  admis- 
sion on  Varnishing  Day,  which  is  an  excellent  day  for  going  round 
the  galleries.  But  to  Janie's  surprise  she  found  that  this  year  his 
name  was  absent  from  the  list.  She  said  no  word,  however.  She 
kept  her  disappointment  and  her  anxious  surmises  to  herself. 

They  had  a  good  steady  two  hours'  work  at  the  pictures ;  and 


IX    UAUKXESS.  419 

then  Janie  marched  her  charge  into  the  luncheon-room  and  se- 
cured a  couple  of  seats.  For  Janie  was  host  now,  and  gave  her- 
self airs  in  consequence.  Sabina  was  a  visitor  from  the  country, 
who  hardly  knew  the  ways  of  the  town,  and  so  she  had  to  be 
taken  about  and  shown  things,  and  treated  when  occasion  served, 
and  petted  always,  Janie  confessed  to  herself  tiiat  she  could  not 
understand  men.  There  was  her  husband,  who  might  have  been 
all  that  morning  goingabout  with  the  prettiest  woman  in  the  place, 
discussing  the  pictures  with  her,  and  talking  to  her  as  much  as 
ever  he  chose,  and  who  might  at  this  very  moment  have  been 
seated  at  this  table  making  merry  with  them  in  the  modest  fash- 
ion allowed  by  the  Academy  ;  and  instead  of  that,  he  must  needs 
keep  laboring  away  at  his  allegorical  and  hungry  virgins.  No 
matter;  there  was  the  one  faithful  soul.  She  had  Sabic  all  to 
herself.  And  she  was  very  happy  and  very  confident.  They 
might  produce  what  striking  costumes  they  chose ;  she  would 
say,  "Oh,  get  away  with  your  purchased  finery  ;  look  at  my  IJeau- 
tifuJ  One." 

There  came  along  a  tall,  good-looking  young  fellow,  whom  Sa- 
bina  seemed  to  recognize,  though  she  could  not  recollect  where 
she  had  seen  him.  He  shook  hands  with  Janie,  and  bowed  to  her 
companion. 

"  1  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  one  night  at  Mr.  Lindsay's, 
two  or  three  years  ago,"  he  said,  seeing  that  she  looked  puzzled ; 
and  then  she  had  a  vague  remembrance  of  this  being  a  young  As- 
sociate who  made  one  of  a  pretty  group  of  lads  and  lasses  gath- 
ered round  the  piano  and  singing  glees. 

He  turned  to  Janie. 

"  JJy-the-way,  have  you  heard  anything  of  Walter  of  late?" 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  she  said,  reddening  a  little  as  she  looked  up 
— for  she  did  not  mention  Lindsay's  name  before  Sabina  more 
than  she  could  help.  "  I  have  only  his  New  York  address;  and 
as  he  hasn't  answered  my  last  letter,  I  have  no  idea  where  he  is. 
I  must  write  again  ;  fur  there  may  have  been  some  mistake." 

"I  heard  the  other  day — I  forgot  who  it  was  who  told  me — 
that  there  was  something  wrong  with  his  eyes." 

"  What?"  she  said,  looking  up  again. 

"  I  hope  it  is  something  of  no  im|)ortancc,"  he  said.  "  But  for  a 
landscape-painter  to  have  his  eyes  go  wrong,  that's  pretty  bad  luck. 
It's  a  serious  thing  fur  anybody — but  for  a  landscape-painter — " 


420  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

Janie  looked  a  little  bewildered  and  frightened. 

"  Now,  I  remember,"  she  said,  rather  breathlessly,  "  that  the  last 
letter  I  had  from  him  was  written  in  such  a  curious  way — not  like 
his  ordinary  handwriting.  And  it  was  very  short  too ;  whereas  he 
used  to  write  long  letters  if  he  had  been  silent  for  some  time. 
Only  he  did  not  say  a  word  about  anything  being  wrong  with  his 
eyes." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  a  mistake,"  he  said.  "  These  reports  do  get  into 
circulation,  and  are  exaggerated  as  they  are  passed  along." 

He  talked  to  her  a  few  moments  further  about  various  matters ; 
but  her  eyes  were  grave  and  absent.  When  he  left  she  did  not 
bring  up  Walter  Lindsay's  name  again.  Luncheon  over,  they  re- 
turned to  the  pictures,  and  to  the  crowd,  that  was  now  sensibly  in- 
creasing in  numbers. 

The  afternoon  passed  without  incident — excepting  that  Sabina 
encountered  her  father  in  this  slow-moving  assemblage.  He  came 
along  bland,  smiling,  and  loftily  gracious,  as  usual,  nodding  to  this 
side  or  that,  as  he  recognized  some  one  sufficiently  distinguished 
to  merit  so  much  of  notice.  Sabina  hesitated.  They  had  not 
met  since  the  time  he  went  down  to  Witstead.  She  did  not  ad- 
vance towards  him  ;  nor  did  she  avoid  him ;  she  stood  just  a  lit- 
tle bit  withdrawn,  so  that  he  could  treat  her  as  he  chose — passing 
on  without  recognition,  if  so  it  pleased  him.  And  yet  she  looked 
timidly  at  him. 

"  Ha !"  said  he,  as  if  she  were  some  mere  ordinary  acquaintance. 
"Howdedo?     Howdedo?" 

He  offered  her  a  couple  of  fingers,  but  he  scarcely  bestowed  a 
look  on  her;  his  glance  was  far  ahead  of  him,  picking  out  the 
great  of  the  land,  with  whom  it  pleased  him  to  know  that  he  was 
on  such  excellent  terms.  And  then  he  went  on  again,  of  course 
taking  no  heed  of  Janie,  who  was  not  a  distinguished  person  at  all. 

Philip  Drexel  had  arrived  in  due  course;  and  Janie  took  the 
first  opportunity  she  could  find — Sabina  happened  to  be  engaged 
in  conversation  with  some  one  who  knew  her  —  to  say  to  her 
husband,  and  rather  anxiously, 

"  Phil,  do  you  remember  the  last  letter  we  had  from  Walter 
Lindsay  ?" 

"  What  about  it  ?" 

"Do  you  remember  anything  peculiar  about  the  handwriting?" 

"No." 


IN   DARKNESS.  421 

"  They  say  there's  something  wrong  with  his  eyesight,"  said 
Janie,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Yes,  I  remember  his  saying  his  eyes  sometimes  bothered  him 
a  little." 

"Oh,  he  spoke  to  you  about  it?"  Janie  said,  eagerly. 

"Yes,  I  think  it  was  when  he  was  just  back  fruin  America; 
there  was  some  talking  about  sea  voyages,  and  he  spoke  of  the 
glare  of  the  water." 

"  But  it  was  nothing  serious  ?"  she  said. 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all." 

"  What  a  fright  I  got !"  said  Janie,  half  to  herself ;  but  at  this 
moment  Sabina  returned  to  them,  and  so  no  further  mention  was 
made  of  Walter  Lindsay. 

Now  it  was  for  this  Private  View  that  Sabina  had  prolonged 
her  visit,  consequently  there  was  but  the  one  more  evening  for 
these  three  to  spend  together  before  her  return  to  Buckingham- 
shire. It  was  a  very  enj(^yable  evening,  nevertheless,  for  the 
long-talked-of  tour  in  Scotland  that  Philip  and  his  wife  had  been 
promising  themselves  year  after  year  had  now  been  definitely 
fixed  for  the  following  month,  and  they  had  very  nearly  per- 
suaded Sabina  to  go  with  them  as  their  guest;  so  that  now  liiore 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  put  a  big  map  on  the  dining-room  table, 
and  discuss  routes,  and  indulge  in  all  kinds  of  imaginary  sights 
and  pleasures.  Janie's  mind  ran  mostly  on  mountains  and  re- 
mote islands  set  amid  lonely  seas.  Her  husband  was  interci-tcd 
more  in  mediaeval  architecture  and  ruins  and  legends  and  tradi- 
tions. And  he  declared  that,  wherever  else  they  might  go,  they 
must  visit  the  Braes  of  Yarrow  ;  for  he  had  some  notion  of  steal- 
inf  a  subject  out  of  Hamilton  of  Bangour's  pathetic  ballad,  and 
he  wanted  to  sec  what  the  neighborhood  was  like.  It  is  to  be 
guessed  that  it  was  not  the  youthful  lover,  in  "his  robes,  bis 
robes  of  green,"  that  was  in  Mr.  Philip's  mind,  nor  yet  the  cruel 
slaughter  done  on  Yarrow's  banks.  These  things  were  hardly  in 
bis  way;  more  likely  he  was  thinking  of  a  single  female  figure, 
dim  and  visionary,  with  a  face  grown  white  with  grief,  and  eyes 
hollow  and  haunted  with  despair. 

"Return,  return,  0  mournful,  mournful  bride, 
Return,  and  dry  thy  uselend  Borrow  ; 
Tliy  lover  needs  nouj^lit  of  thy  Ki^liH  ; 

He  lies  u  corpse  on  the  Hracs  of  Yarrow." 


422  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

Then  behind  this  solitary  figure  a  half-suggested  landscape — vague 
and  gray  and  shadowy — a  darkened  river — the  fatal  bank  where 
she  "tint  her  lover,  lover  dear" — and  beyond  these  the  low-lying 
hills,  sombre  under  the  heavy  sky,  and  receding  into  a  mysterious 
gloom. 

"  Sabie,"  said  Janie,  the  next  morning,  at  the  door  of  the  cab, 
"  make  it  a  definite  '  Yes  !' " 

"I  cannot;  you  are  really  too  kind,"  was  Sabina's  answer.  "I 
should  be  dreadfully  in  the  way.  Two's  company  ;  three's  none. 
If  it  was  a  run  down  to  Brighton,  that  might  be  all  right — but  a 
long  travelling  through  Scotland  !  And  then  the  expense ;  young 
married  people  like  you  shouldn't  dream  of  such  extravagances." 

"  Then  you  deliberately  mean  to  spoil  my  visit  to  Scotland  ?" 
said  Janie. 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?" ' 

"  You  know  well  enough.  It  has  been  promised  me  all  along 
that  when  we  went  to  Scotland  you  should  come  with  me ;  and 
what  else  did  I  think  of?  It's  not  the  old  abbeys  I  care  for;  it's 
having  you  with  us.  And  now  you  deliberately  say  no.  As  for 
the  expense — well,  if  Phil  says  he  can  afford  it,  and  easily  afford 
it,  I  suppose  that  is  enough  ?  And  I  never  expected  to  hear  you, 
Sabie,  talk  as  if  you  were  too  proud  to  accept  a  small  kindness 
from  us ;  it  isn't  like  you  to  talk  like  that — as  between  you  and 
me." 

"You  goose,  I  never  said  anything  of  the  kind,"  Sabina  an- 
swered her,  good-naturedly.  "  Well,  I  will  think  over  it.  And  if 
I  can  bring  myself  to  inflict  so  much  trouble  on  you,  then  I  will 
go  as  your  maid,  and  you  will  let  me  travel  third-class." 

"Yes,  I  think  that  would  do  very  well,"  Janie  said,  gravely. 
"  Only  I  am  afraid  in  that  case  Phil  would  very  soon  forsake  the 
mistress  for  the  maid.  He  would  be  too  much  in  that  third-class 
compartment.     Now,  Sabie,  before  you  go,  a  definite  'Yes.'  " 

"Really  I  cannot,  Janie  dear;  but  I  will  let  you  know;  I  must 
see  how  old  Mr.  Foster  likes  it." 

"  Within  a  fortnight  you  will  let  me  know?" 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"  And  then  you  will  at  once  come  up  to  town,  and  stay  with 
us  for  a  week,  and  get  your  travelling  things  ready  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid,  if  I  do  go,  I  shall  have  to  do  with  what  I  have." 

"  Ah,  but  you'll  come  up  and  see,  Sabie !"  her  friend  said,  be- 


IN    DARKNESS.  423 

seecbingly.  "  And  we'll  go  to  the  Scotch  place  in  Regent  Street. 
Oil,  shouldn't  I  like  to  see  you  in  a  long  gray  ulster  and  a  Taiu  o' 
Shanter,  at  Euston  Sqn.ire  Station,  walking  up  and  down  the  plat- 
form. You  would  look  so  comfoitablo  in  it,  and  it  would  suit 
your  tall  figure  too.  Sabie,  I'm  going  to  give  you  that  for  your 
birthday  present." 

"  What  nonsense !  But  good-by,  Janie,  good-by.  Tell  the  man 
to  look  sharp,  or  I  shall  miss  my  train." 

For  several  days  thereafter  Janie  expected  every  morning  to  hear 
from  Missenden,  but  no  message  came  ;  and  she  thought  she  must 
write  again  and  urge  Sabie  to  give  her  consent.  However,  some- 
thing now  occurred  that  changed  the  whole  situation  of  affairs. 

One  morning  she  and  her  husband  were  seated  at  breakfast, 
when  a  letter  was  brought  to  her.  It  was  a  bulky  letter,  and  ad- 
dressed in  a  school-boy's  hand.  She  had  nearly  thrown  it  into 
the  fireplace  in  the  irritation  naturally  begotten  by  the  receipt  of  a 
circular.  Nevertheless,  she  mechanically  opened  the  envelope  and 
glanced  at  the  contents.  Presently  she  turned  to  the  signature.  It 
was  "  Walter  Lindsay  "  she  saw  there,  but  not  in  his  handwriting. 

"Oh,  Phil,  what's  this?"  she  cried. 

She  began  again  at  the  first  page,  and  read  rapidly  and  breath- 
lessly. Her  husband  was  looking  at  her  with  some  amazement. 
Presently  he  saw  her  lips  begin  to  quiver ;  then  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears ;  then  she  rose. 

"Read  it,  Phil — I — I  can't,"  she  said,  and  turned  and  quickly 
left  the  room. 

Yet  this  was  no  piteous  communication  he  was  asked  to  glance 
through;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  written  with  an  aiuimiaiice  of 
good-humor.  Lindsay  apologized, to  begin  with,  f<.i'  nut  h.iving 
answered  her  letter  long  before,  the  fact  being  that,  it  had  bicn 
forwarded  from  New  York  to  place  to  place,  until  it  had  linally 
reached  him  in  the  "  Kingdom  of  Galloway."  Then  he  went,  on  : 
"They  say  the  wounded  hare  crawls  home  to  die.  Well,  it  is  not 
quite  as  bad  as  that  with  me;  but  wIkii  I  tell  you  that  my  eye- 
sight has  gone  from  bad  to  worse,  so  that  now  all  I  can  tell  is  the 
difference  betwixt  night  and  day,  you  will  understand  that  it  was 
but  natural  T  should  come  back  to  the  oM  familiar  place,  where 
I  can  imagine  my  surroundings,  if  I  cannot  see  them.  And  really 
I  am  very  comfortable,  and  lead  a  j)leas;int  enough  life.  The  la<l 
who  writes  these  lines  to  you  is  a  8har{)-cyed  fellow,  with  an  adniira- 


424  SABINA  ZEMBRA. 

ble  acquaintance  with  every  bird  and  beast  you  may  meet  on  a  morn- 
ing walk,  and  an  eager  sportsman,  too,  from  firing  at  rabbits,  which 
he  never  hits,  to  guddling  trout  in  the  burns;  and  I  am  as  much 
interested  in  his  performances  as  if  they  were  my  own.  I  have 
myself  tried  a  little  fly-fishing,  witli  more  or  less  success ;  but  ex- 
pect to  be  more  at  home  in  trolling  with  the  phantom-minnow,  if 
I  can  come  across  some  good-natured  fellow  who  has  a  salmon-loch. 
Then  I  have  books  and  newspapers  read  to  me ;  and  there  is  no 
lack  of  tobacco  ;  and  then  we  have  long  walks  round  the  coast,  or 
up  on  the  hill-sides,  and  my  companion  tells  me  how  many  birds 
there  were  in  the  covey  that  got  up  at  our  feet,  or  what  kind  of 
ships  they  are  that  are  passing,  and  how  far  he  thinks  the  horizon 
is  off.  So  you  see  I  have  a  good  excuse  for  a  life  of  inglorious 
ease ;  and  I  have  but  little  right  to  complain  ;  things  might  have 
been  a  good  deal  harder  to  bear.  And  as  regards  the  operation 
they  speak  of  at  some  future  time,  I  am  trying  to  prepare  myself 
for  the  worst.  This  darkness  came  upon  me  by  slow  degrees,  so 
that  I  got  used  to  it  in  a  measure ;  and  I  can  look  forward  to  a 
life-long  continuance  of  it  without  much  dismay.  There  were  one 
or  two  things,  in  the  way  of  my  work,  I  had  thought  to  have  at- 
tempted— that  is  the  only  reflection  that  does  trouble  me  a  little 
at  times;  but  I  don't  know  that  I  should  have  done  any  better 
than  I  had  done  before;  and  what  I  have  done  must  now  speak 
for  itself.  For  one  thing,  the  critics  may  now  look  on  me  as  a 
dead  man  ;  and  they  always  say  nicer  things  about  you  after  you 
are  dead. 

"  This  is  a  very  egotistical  letter,  but  I  thought  you  would  like 
to  know  exactly  how  the  case  stands  with  me ;  and  if  any  one 
should  ask  about  me,  you  will  be  able  to  say  that  I  am  not  at  all 
given  over  to  black  moods  of  despair.  And  if  you  only  knew  how 
I  long  for  news  of  any  friends  in  whom  you  and  I  are  mutually 
interested,  I  am  sure  that  of  your  kindness  you  would  send  me  a 
line.  I  would  have  written  to  you  before,  to  beg  that  news  of  you, 
but  have  been  trying  hard  to  get  quite  thoroughly  accustomed  to 
my  position  and  circumstances,  so  as  to  write  in  a  fairly  contented 
way.  And  I  think  I  am  content.  I  know  I  shall  be  more  than 
content  when  you  send  me  some  bit  of  news.  The  smallest  things 
told  to  me  are  full  of  interest — that  there  are  yellow  marsh-mari- 
golds in  the  ditch  by  the  road-side — that  a  hawk  is  hovering  high 
in  the  air — that  a  blue  kingfisher  has  just  darted  up  the  stream — 


IN   THE   KINGDOM    OF   GALLOWAY.  425 

or  that  a  small  white  rabbit  is  lying  asleep  in  the  sun,  just  outside 
the  parental  burrow — all  these  little  things  are  of  the  keenest  in- 
terest, for  they  are  so  many  messages  from  the  great  world  of  life 
and  light  and  color  that  is  all  around  me,  and  that  I  nuiy  never 
see  again.  So  you  may  imagine  what  news  from  friends  must  be. 
Did  I  say  that  I  would  have  written  before,  but  that  I  waited  until 
I  was  quite  used  to  ray  surroundings?  Tell  Philip  that  if  they 
should  ask  about  me  at  the  Arts  Club,  he  may  say  that  I  am  not 
repining  overmuch." 

These  were  the  pertinent  passages ;  and  Janie's  husband  was 
just  finishing  them  when  she  returned  to  the  room,  her  eyes  red 
with  crying. 

"  He  is  putting  a  very  brave  face  on  it,"  said  he.  "  But  any  one 
can  feel  there  is  more  than  is  set  down  here." 

"Oh,  it  is  terrible — it  is  terrible,"  she  said,  with  a  bit  of  a  re- 
turning sob.     "  Phil,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"Well,  we  shall  be  in  Scotland  anyway;  don't  you  think  we 
ought  to  go  and  see  him  ?" 

"Ah,  I  thought  you  would  say  that!"  Janie  exclaimed,  and 
there  was  a  soft  gleam  of  pride  and  gratitude  in  her  tear -filled 
eyes.     "And  then — as  for  Sabie?" 

She  hesitated  for  but  a  moment,  and  it  was  herself  who  boldly 
made  the  answer. 

"  Well,  if  Sabie  refuses  to  go  to  Scotland  now — she  is  not  the 
•woman  I  took  her  for." 


CHAPTER  L. 

IN  THE  KINGDOM   OF  GALLOWAY. 

Janie  was  not  long  left  in  doubt. 

"  If  you  think  he  would  like  it,"  Sabina  wrote  instantly,  "  if 
you  think  it  would  be  a  little  break  in  the  monotony  of  his  life, 
or  would  serve  to  convince  him  how  much  we  sympathize  with 
him  in  his  dreadful  misfortune,  I  will  go  with  you,  and  gladly. 
IIow  can  I  ever  forget  his  kindness  to  me  in  my  darkest  hours? 
And  if  that  can  never  be  repaid,  surely  the  least  I  can  do  is  to 
show  that  I  remember  him  and  am  grateful." 

Then  there  was  a  bustle  of  pre[)aration  in  the  house  ;  for  Janie's 


426  SABINA   ZEilBRA. 

ideas  about  Scotland,  and  about  what  was  necessary  for  such  a 
journey,  were  of  a  vague  description ;  perhaps  she  would  hardly 
have  been  surprised  if  warned  to  take  tinned  meats  with  her  in 
case  of  their  being  snowed  up  in  June,  or  if  Piiilip  had  been  ad- 
vised to  purchase  a  rifle,  on  the  chance  of  his  getting  a  sliot  at  a 
bear.  However,  Philip's  first  care  was  to  ascertain  that  this  visit 
would  be  agreeable  to  Walter  Lindsay  ;  and  accordingly  he  wrote, 
saying  they  were  coming  round  that  way,  and  would  like  to  see 
him,  and  might,  perhaps,  if  there  was  an  hotel  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, stay  for  a  few  days,  and  give  him  of  their  company  if  he 
cared  for  it.     He  added  that  Sabina  was  coming  with  them. 

The  answer  showed  how  gratefully  this  proposal  had  been  re- 
ceived. 

"  I  have  made  my  young  friend  here  read  your  letter  over  sev- 
eral times,  for  it  sounded  too  good  to  be  true  ;  but  I  am  convinced 
at  last;  and  you  may  be  sure  I  understand  why  you  think  of  com- 
ing to  this  out-of-the-way  place.  And  we'll  say  nothing  about  an 
hotel,  if  you  will  put  up  with  such  accommodation  as  my  poor 
house  affords;  and  we  will  try  to  give  you  a  Scotch  welcome.  It 
is  an  interesting  neighborhood  ;  you  will  be  able  to  plan  plenty 
of  excursions,  and  you  needn't  be  afraid  that  I  shall  be  a  drag  on 
you — I  shall  be  glad  enough  when  you  come  home  in  the  even- 
ing. In  the  mean  time  it  will  be  quite  an  occupation  for  me  to 
make  preparations  for  your  coming ;  if  I  can't  see  what  is  going 
on,  I  shall  be  no  worse  off  than  the  modern  general  who  sits  in  his 
tent  and  conducts  a  battle  from  the  reports  sent  in  to  him.  I 
would  telegraph  for  Mrs.  Reid  to  give  us  her  additional  assistance, 
but  her  face  would  remind  Sabina  of  that  sad  time ;  so  perhaps 
we  shall  be  better  without.  By-the-way,  I  have  once  or  twice 
been  thinking  of  writing  to  you  about  my  house  and  studio  in 
London.  Once  upon  a  time  I  made  a  solemn  vow  never  to  sell 
them — because  of  certain  associations.  But  then  I  was  earning  a 
good  income;  now  that  I  am  earning  nothing,  it  seems  a  useless 
piece  of  extravagance.  Probably  I  shall  never  be  in  London  again  ; 
and,  considering  this  that  has  happened  to  me,  I  think  I  am  en- 
titled to  absolution  from  that  vow ;  so  that  if  you  slioiild  chance 
to  hear  of  a  likely  tenant  or  purchaser,  you  might  let  me  know." 

"  Never  to  be  in  London  again  ?"  repeated  Janie,  when  she  read 
the  letter.  "Does  he  think  he  would  be  such  a  trouble  to  his 
friends — a  drag  on  them,  he  says?     But  he  is  hopeless  because  he 


IN  THE   KINGDOM   OF   GALLOWAY.  427 

is  alone.  When  Sabie  and  you  and  I  are  all  with  him,  we  will 
try  to  cheer  him  up  a  little.  And  —  and  I  hope  Sabie  will  be 
kind  !" 

Then  Sabina  was  summoned  up  from  the  country  to  join  in  the 
general  and  joyful  hurry  of  preparation  for  departure.  But  when 
she  saw  what  Janie  considered  needful  in  the  way  of  rugs,  ulsters, 
water-proofs,  and  the  like  —  and  when  she  discovered  that  these 
good  people,  though  far  from  being  abundantly  rich,  were  making 
no  scruple  about  providing  her  with  all  of  these — her  conscience 
smote  her.  The  cost  of  the  travelling,  too,  would  be  great:  why 
should  she  become  such  a  burden  upon  them?  The  alternative 
was  that  she  should  go  and  ask  her  father  for  a  renewal  of  the  al- 
lowance which,  he  had  formally  intimated  to  her,  still  remained  at 
her  disposal.  Perhaps,  in  other  circumstances,  she  would  even 
now  have  backed  out  of  this  proposed  holiday,  and  contentedly 
gone  down  home  again  to  Buckinghamshire.  But  she  wanted  to 
go  to  Scotland — if  her  going  would  be  taken  as  a  kindness  by  one 
who  was  once  kind  to  her,  and  was  now  sorely  stricken — and  so 
she  put  her  pride  in  her  pocket,  wrote  to  her  father,  got  an  ap- 
pointment to  meet  him  at  the  Waldegrave  Club,  and  went  there 
and  found  him. 

There  were  two  well-known  politicians  passing  through  the  hall 
while  Sabina  was  standing  there,  talking  to  her  father  and  ex- 
plaining her  position.  When  they  had  got  into  the  morning- 
room,  and  the  glass  door  had  swung  behind  them,  the  one  said  to 
the  other. 

"  What  a  remarkably  handsome  girl  that  is  talking  to  Anthony 
Zembra  ! — did  you  notice  her?" 

"  Whv,  don't  you  know  who  she  is?"  said  the  other. 

"  No." 

"  His  daughter,  that's  all." 

"How  can  that  be?     I  have  never  seen  her  at  the  house." 

"Oh,  she's  married — or  was  married — or  something,"  his  com- 
panion said,  indifferently.  "She  doesn't  live  with  family  number 
two." 

Meanwhile  Sabina  was  being  lectured  in  a  cold  fashion  about 
the  consequences  of  her  evil  ways.  But  when  it  came  to  the 
question  of  money  there  was  no  difficulty.  Sir  Anthony  pointed 
out  to  her  that  it  was  no  wish  of  his  that  one  of  his  daughters 
should  be  dependent  on  the  bounty  of  any  one;  that  her  allow- 


428  SABINA    ZEMBUA. 

ance  was  bcinj^  punctually  paid  her  when  she  chose  to  relinquish 
it,  from  motives  best  known  to  herself;  that  it  was  still  at  her  dis- 
posal ;  and  that  personally  he  should  much  prefer  that  no  relation 
of  his  was  in  receipt  of  charity  from  any  source  whatever.  For 
Sir  Anthony  liked  to  speak  of  his  own  motives,  aims,  circum- 
stances, and  position  ;  and  he  seldom  failed  to  convey  to  his  inter- 
locutor a  sense  of  how  far,  far  away  from  that  high  standard  of 
intcijritv  and  prudence  and  conscientiousness  he  or  she  was.  Sa- 
bina  left  the  Waldegrave  Club  just  a  little  bit  humbled  ;  but  at  all 
events  she  knew  that  now  those  kind  people  who  were  befriend- 
ing her  would  not  have  to  pay  for  her  travelling  equipment. 

Then  there  came  the  joyous  morning  on  which  these  three  found 
themselves  walking  up  and  down  the  wide,  sounding  platform  of 
Euston  Station.  A  carriage  had  been  reserved  for  them ;  Philip 
had  stuffed  it  full  of  newspapers  and  magazines.  And  now  Sa- 
bina,  having  yielded  to  Janie's  insistence,  was  clad  in  an  ulster  of 
gray  homespun,  with  a  Tam  o'  Shanter  of  similar  color,  and  looked 
more  like  a  Highland  chieftainess  than  a  Kensington-born  young 
woman. 

"Take  your  scats  for  the  North  !" 

To  some  folk  there  is  more  music  in  these  simple  words  than 
ever  was  put  into  any  song  or  ballad.  But  these  three  travellers 
were,  as  a  first  stage,  going  no  farther  than  Carlisle ;  and  indeed 
knew  little  of  what  was  before  them. 

"Look  here,"  said  Mr.  Philip,  taking  out  his  pocket-book  as 
soon  as  they  were  through  the  tunnels  and  into  the  clear  da3'light 
again.  "  I  was  talking  some  little  while  ago  to  an  American,  over 
here  for  the  first  time,  and  he  told  me  that  what  struck  him  most 
in  England  was  the  number  of  interesting  things,  historical  and 
otherwise,  that  you  find  everywhere  within  a  small  compass.  Go 
anywhere  you  like,  he  said — for  a  morning  stroll — and  there's  al- 
ways something.  Now  I  wonder  what  he  would  say  to  this  little 
run  between  Carlisle  and  Stranraer.  I  have  been  jotting  down 
some  of  the  points  while  I  was  ransacking  the  guide-books;  and 
really  we  shall  have  our  work  cut  out  for  us  before  we  reach  Carn- 
ryan  Tower.  Listen.  They  begin  the  minute  you  cross  the  border. 
Gretna  Green — well,  that's  nothing.  Kirtle  Water — that  is  where 
Helen  of  Kirkconnell  was  shot  in  saving  the  life  of  her  lover — " 

"Oh,  if  you  take  account  of  all  the  imaginary  stories — "  bis 
■wife  objected. 


m  THE   KINGDOM   OF   GALLOWAY.  429 

"My  dear,"  said  he,  *'it  isn't  an  imaginary  story.  It  was  a 
very  actual  occurrence  —  as  the  gentleman  who  fired  the  shot 
found  out.  The  slaving  of  Burd  Helen  wasn't  at  all  the  end  of 
the  incident — a  little  interview  had  to  take  place  between  the 
lover  and  the  murderer — don't  you  remember? — 

"  '  My  sword  did  draw, 

Stern  was  our  fight  on  Kirtleshaw, 

I  hewed  him  down  in  pieces  sraa', 

For  her  sake  that  died  for  me.' 

Then  what  comes  next?  Dumfries.  I  don't  know  bow  we  are 
ever  to  get  away  from  Dumfries  and  its  neighborhood.  Of  course 
we  must  drive  out  and  see  Ellisland,  Burns's  farm,  and  Friar's 
Carse  too  ;  then  there's  Lincluden  Abbey,  Drutnlanrig  Castle,  Max- 
wellton  Braes  —  we'll  maybe  find  another  Bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
tripping  over  the  dew  ;  Craigenputtock,  where  Thomas  the  Thun- 
derer prepared  his  bolts  before  coming  up  to  London  ;  Sweetheart 
Abbey,  that  Devorgilla  built  in  memory  of  her  husband  —  thir- 
teenth-century work  that  must  be — Caerlaverock  Castle,  Threave 
Castle,  Dundrennan  Abbey,  where  Queen  Mary  spent  her  last  night 
in  Scotland,  after  the  battle  of  Langside — " 

"  Phil,"  said  his  wife  to  him,  "  if  you  are  going  to  give  so  much 
time  to  these  old  abbeys  and  monasteries,  what  do  you  say  to 
Sable  and  me  going  on  to  Carnryan  and  waiting  for  you  there? 
Indeed,  if  you  are  going  to  spend  so  much  time  on  this  little  bit  of 
Scotland,  how  are  we  to  know  anything  of  the  country  generally  ? 
J  thought  we  should  see  something  of  the  lonely  islands  in  the 
west,  and  the  mountains,  and  certainly  Edinburgh,  and  Melrose; 
and  vou  wanted  to  go  back  by  Yarrow — that's  away  somewhere 
else—" 

"  Here's  gratitude,"  said  he,  "  for  my  having  crushed  twenty 
pages  of  guide-book  into  ten  lines.  However,  we'll  make  this 
compact :  you  bear  with  as  much  architecture  as  you  can,  and,  on 
my  side,  when  you  think  a  place  is  not  likely  to  be  interesting 
I'll  cut  it  out — Sabina  to  be  umpire." 

So  that  was  settled  ;  but  both  Sabina  and  Philip  knew  very 
well  that  it  was  no  ignorant  lack  of  interest  in  historical  or  poeti- 
cal associations  that  had  prompted  Jaiiie's  little  protest;  it  was 
that  she  was  anxious  to  show  Walter  Litidsay  that  his  friends  had 
not  forgotten  him  iu  his  trouble,  but  were  quick  with  their  sym- 
pathy. 


430  SABIJTA   ZEMBRA. 

That  night  tliey  stopped  at  "  Merry  Carlisle,"  and  next  morning 
wore  up  betimes  and  on  the  ramparts  of  the  red  Castle,  looking 
away  across  the  green  meadows  and  the  winding  Eden  towards 
the  pale  blue  line  of  the  Scotch  hills  at  the  horizon.  Then  they 
crossed  the  Border,  and  guessed  at  the  place  where 

"  In  my  arms  Burd  Helen  dropped, 
And  died  for  love  of  me." 

They  spent  two  days  in  and  around  Dumfries.  They  went  on  to 
Castle  Douglas.  They  made  their  way  into  the  famous  Kingdom 
of  Galloway,  that  is  "  blest  with  the  smell  of  bog-myrtle  and 
peat."  Finally,  in  this  slow  fashion,  they  rested  a  night  at  New- 
ton-Stewart, so  as  to  take  the  morning  train  to  Stranraer;  and 
there  they  found  awaiting  them  at  the  station  a  wagonette  to  con- 
vey them  to  Carnryan. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  soft-aired,  June  morning,  and  the  country 
through  which  they  drove  was  picturesque  enough,  with  occa- 
sional glimpses  of  the  sea;  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  two 
womenfolk  were  very  much  preoccupied,  not  to  say  anxious  and 
nervous. 

"You'd  better  say  nothing  at  all,"  Philip  Drexel  had  advised 
them.  "  It  would  only  be  an  embarrassment.  Clearly  he  is  de- 
termined to  put  a  brave  face  on  it;  just  you  talk  to  him  as  if 
nothing  had  happened." 

"It  seems  hard,  though,"  Janie  said,  wistfully,  "that — that  he 
shouldn't  know  how  sorry  we  are." 

"You  can't  say  anything  well,"  remarked  Mr.  Philip,  who  had 
a  little  common-sense,  "and  what  is  the  use  of  saying  it  badly? 
And  don't  you  think  he  will  understand?" 

When  at  length  they  arrived  at  Carnryan  they  found  it  a  quite 
modern  place  (the  old  tower,  as  they  afterwards  discovered,  was 
on  a  promontory  facing  the  sea).  The  house  was  two-storied, 
wide,  and  straggling,  surrounded  by  fair  meadows  and  woods,  and 
with  a  high-walled  fruit-garden  at  some  distance  away.  The 
French  windows,  the  trimly-kept  lawn  and  flower-pots  were  all 
very  cheerful  and  pleasant.  If  they  had  been  expecting  anything 
of  the  grim  and  gray  dignity  of  an  ancient  Scottish  keep  they 
were  speedily  disillusionized. 

They  alighted  from  the  wagonette,  and  were  received  by  an 
elderly  man-servant  and  a  smart  young  maid,  who  informed  them 


IN  THE   KINGDOM    OF   GALLOWAY.  4^31 

that  Mr.  Lindsay  was  down  in  the  fruit- garden,  but  would  be 
forthcoming  directly,  as  he  would  hear  the  carriage-wheels.  So 
they  did  not  go  into  the  house ;  they  loitered  about  the  front 
door,  looking  at  the  shrubberies,  and  the  larch -trees,  and  the 
beds  of  forget-me-nots,  and  at  certain  small  round  puff-balls 
under  a  distant  hedge,  which  they  found  out  to  be  white  rab- 
bits. 

Then  Lindsay  made  his  appearance  at  some  way  off,  walking 
rather  slowly,  with  his  hand  resting  on  the  shoulder  of  a  young 
lad.  His  tall  form  was  as  erect  as  ever,  but  his  head  was  bent  a 
little  forward,  as  if  he  had  fallen  into  a  habit  of  listening  intently. 
When  he  came  still  nearer  they  could  see  that  there  was  no  ap- 
pearance whatever  of  his  being  blind ;  there  was  not  even  a  shade 
over  his  eyes.  But  they  heard  the  boy  say  to  him  in  an  under- 
tone, 

"There's  a  gentleman,  sir,  and  a  tall  young  leddy,  and  anithcr 
ane  not  so  tall." 

He  came  forward,  holding  out  both  his  hands. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  a  hundred  times,"  he  said.  "This  is 
hardly  a  Scotch  welcome ;  I  should  have  been  at  the  door  to  re- 
ceive you,  but  I  fancy  Sandy  has  come  a  good  pace,  or  else  I've 
mistaken  the  time.  And  this  is  you,  Philip — and  this  is  you, 
Janie — then  this  must  be  you — " 

"  Sabina !"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  entreaty  :  she  could  not  be 
left  out  of  the  little  friendly  circle. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  brought  such  fine  weather  with  you,"  he 
said,  cheerfully.  "Didn't  you  think  the  country  looking  pretty 
as  you  came  along?" 

"  Oh,  beautiful,  beautiful !"  Janie's  husband  said.  The  two 
women  could  hardly  speak.  It  was  so  piteous  to  hear  hiin  talk 
approvingly  of  all  these  summer  things  around  them,  and  still  to 
be  so  far  away  from  them.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  he  were  im- 
prisoned within  some  living  tomb. 

"Come  into  the  house,  then,"  he  said,  as  if  he  would  himself 
lead  the  way. 

And  then  he  hesitated,  and  put  forward  his  foot  a  little  to  find 
where  the  stone  step  was ;  for  the  young  lad  had  withdrawn  a 
space  to  leave  his  master  free  to  talk  to  his  guests.  At  this  mo- 
ment it  happened  that  Sabina  was  next  to  Lindsay,  and  could  not 
but  see  his  helplessness. 


432  SABIXA    ZEMBRA. 

"  Will  you  talce  my  hand  ?"  she  said ;  and  she  gently  put  her 
finders  on  his  arm  and  guided  him  into  the  hall. 

It  was  her  right  hand  that  she  put  on  his  arm  ;  with  the  left 
she  was  brushing  aside  the  tears  that,  in  spite  of  herself,  rained 
down  her  face. 


CHAPTER   LI. 

AT  CARNKTAN  TOWER. 


Janie's  teen  desire  to  visit  the  northern  isles  and  hills,  and 
Edinburgh,  and  Melrose,  and  "  the  dowie  dens  o'  Yarrow,"  had 
apparently  gone  away  from  her  mind  now  •,  she  seemed  well  con- 
tent with  this  bit  of  western  Wigtonshire ;  and  indeed  they  found 
the  neighborhood  exceedingly  picturesque  and  interesting.  Of 
course  they  insisted  on  Walter  Lindsay  accompanying  them  on 
all  of  their  excursions ;  and  the  attendant  who  went  with  them, 
perched  up  on  the  box-seat  beside  the  driver,  speedily  discovered 
that  his  office  was  a  sinecure.  It  was  "the  tall  young  leddy" 
who  had  supplanted  him,  devoting  herself  entirely  to  Lindsay,  and 
never  wearied  of  telling  him  o-f  all  that  was  around  them  as  they 
walked  along.  She  did  not  need  to  lead  him.  Somehow  he 
knew  when  she  was  close  by  him.  Her  voice  was  a  sufficient 
guide — perhaps  an  occasional  touch  of  her  dress  too.  Naturally, 
when  they  were  stepping  into  a  boat,  or  passing  under  the  arch- 
way of  some  old  ruin,  she  gave  him  her  hand  ;  but  ordinarily  they 
merely  walked  side  by  side — her  face  turned  towards  his. 

They  were  thus  strolling  along  the  shore  one  morning,  she 
.stooping  now  and  again  to  pick  up  a  shell  or  a  bit  of  crimson 
weed,  but  ever  returning  to  her  welcome  task  of  describing  the 
fair  world  around  them,  and  Janie  and  her  husband  were  follow- 
ing some  little  way  behind. 

"  If  Walter  had  only  his  eyesight  for  ten  minutes  !"  Janie  said, 
•wistfully.  "  If  he  could  only  see  the  expression  of  her  face  every 
time  she  turns  to  him.  There  is  one  thing  surely  he  must  notice 
— that  her  voice  changes  whenever  she  speaks  to  him.  Whatever 
she  may  be  saying  to  us — whatever  nonsense  may  be  going  on — 
the  moment  she  speaks  to  him  it  is  all  gentleness ;  and  you  know 
how  soft  and  kind  her  voice  is  when  she  chooses.     That  is  what 


AT    CAENRYAN   TOWER.  433 

I  have  said  for  years  and  years,  ever  since  I  have  known  her :  tlje 
wa3'  to  win  Sabie's  love  is  through  her  pity.  AValter  Lindsay 
used  to  be  too  well  off  ;  she  never  could  be  brought  to  care  for 
him.  So  I  suppose  it  is  true  that  tliere  may  be  a  soul  of  good  in 
tilings  evil.  I  dare  say  if  she  had  not  come  through  that  dread- 
ful time  of  trouble,  she  would  never  have  got  to  know  what  a  true 
friend  he  is;  and  I  am  quite  sure,  if  this  misfortune  hadn't  be- 
fallen him,  she  wouldn't  have  the  sympathy  with  him  she  has  now. 
And  very  little  trouble  she  takes  to  hide  it.  If  he  could  only  see 
for  a  second  how  she  watches  his  face  when  she's  telling  him  any- 
thing— to  gather  whether  he's  interested  ;  yes,  and  the  quickness 
with  which  she  is  the  first  to  get  him  his  stick  and  his  hat  when  we 
are  coming  out,  and  the  eagerness  with  which  she  listens  to  him — ■ 
and  her  quick  approval — ah,  well,  I  don't  know  what  may  come  of 
it ;  but  apparently  Sabie  is  quite  happy  whenever  she  is  with  him." 

Thus  said  Janie  in  her  incoherent  way  ;  her  husband  took  a 
more  practical  view. 

"  What  ought  to  come  of  it  is  clear  enough.  To  make  of  two 
broken  lives  one  whole  one  is  the  sensil^le  thing." 

"  He  is  too  proud  to  ask  her,"  Janie  said. 

"  Let  her  ask  him." 

"  She  can't.  Besides,  he  would  refuse  to  accept  s-acli  a  sacrifice 
— that  is,  if  he  was  likely  to  be  permanently  blind." 

"Now,  look  here,"  said  Mr.  Philip.  "  That  is  a  subject  which 
we  can't  speak  of  to  Walter,  but  you  and  I  may  speak  of  it ;  and 
I  assure  you  that  his  determination  to  look  at  the  worst  side  of 
the  possibilities  must  have  grown  up  when  he  was  living  here  by 
himself,  and  giving  way  to  depression  and  gloom.  Or  he  may 
think  it  right  to  school  himself  to  face  the  worst  that  can  happen. 
Very  well,  that  may  be  reasonable  enough,  but  you  must  remem- 
ber that  the  chances  are  really  the  other  way.  No  doubt  many  of  the 
operations  are  unsuccessful,  but  the  majority  of  them  are  success- 
ful ;  and  you  know  what  the  doctors  said — that  everything  d«- 
jx'uded  on  the  general  health  of  the  constitution.  Well,  look  at 
Lindsay.  He  has  never  had  a  touch  of  gout  or  rheumatism  or 
anything  of  the  kind  all  his  life  long.  I  say  the  chances  are  all  in 
his  favor.  Of  course,  the  anxiety  must  be  dreadful ;  and  I  can 
understand  a  man  in  a  kind  of  half  despair  saying  to  himself  that 
he  will  rather  look  forward  to  the  worst,  so  that  he  may  not  be 
wholly  crushed  if  it  should  happen." 

io 


434  SABINA   ZEMBRA. 

"  I  wonder  what  Sabie  thinks,"  Janic  said,  absently.  "  I  am 
afraid  to  ask  her.  And  I  suppose,  if  ho  were  to  be  permanently 
blind,  it  would  be  too  great  a  sacrifice  for  her  to  make?  I  know, 
if  the  positions  were  reversed,  it  would  not  be  too  great  a  sacrifice 
for  him  to  make ;  he  would  sacrifice  anything,  everything,  for 
Sable's  sake.  But  you  don't  often  meet  with  a  devotion  like  that. 
lie  told  me  himself — but  mind,  you  must  not  tell  Sabie  this — that 
when  it  first  occurred  to  him  there  was  something  wrong  with  his 
eves,  he  began  to  think  there  would  be  at  least  this  compensation 
in  being  blind,  that  Sabie  would  always  have  the  same  beauty  for 
him,  that  he  would  always  think  of  her  as  he  had  first  known 
her.  There  never  has  been  anything  that  he  would  not  sacri- 
fice, and  willingly  and  gladly,  for  her  sake.  Bat  I  don't  know 
about  her." 

"  You  don't  know  about  her?"  her  husband  repeated,  staring  at 
her.  "  Well,  I  like  that!  Oh,  of  course  you  want  me  to  argue 
that  she  is  bound  to  make  the  sacrifice  ?  I  am  not  going  to  say 
anything  of  the  kind.  But  this  is  clear  enough — that,  if  the  suc- 
cess of  that  operation  depends  considerably  on  the  general  health 
of  the  patient,  our  little  trip  here  seems  to  have  done  Lindsay  a 
world  of  good.  He  is  in  ever  so  much  better  spirits  than  when 
we  came." 

"  That  is  because  Sabie  is  his  constant  companion,"  was  Janie's 
answer.  "And  I  must  say  for  her,  that  when  she  sets  about  inak- 
ing  much  of  any  one,  she  does  it  with  a  will.  There  is  no  mis- 
taking it.  I  remember,  in  the  old  time,  mother  declaring  she  was 
a  most  horrible  flirt  because  of  the  way  she  was  '  going  on '  with 
Walter  at  his  own  house  one  night.  But  she  wasn't  'going  on.' 
When  she  wants  to  be  good  to  you,  as  the  children  say,  she  cer- 
tainly can,  and  she  doesn't  care  who  sees  it,  either." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Philip,  "it  is  clear  we  are  not  doing 
Lindsay  much  harm  by  keeping  him  occupied  and  cheerful ;  and 
I  have  been  thinking  we  might  add  on  two  or  three  days  more  to 
our  visit.  AVe  can't  be  in  the  way,  for  he  has  nothing  to  do ;  and 
the  house  is  big,  the  servants  just  as  obliging  and  good-natured  as 
they  can  be.  Well,  now,  I  was  thinking  of  Monday  next ;  shall 
we  say  Wednesday  instead  ?" 

"  If  you  will  stay  to  the  end  of  the  week,  Phil,"  Janie  answer- 
ed, "  I  will  give  up  any  one  of  the  places  I  wanted  to  see — any 
one  you  like." 


AT    CARNRYAN   TOWER.  435 

"The  end  of  the  week?  Well,  we  must  first  aslc  for  an  invita- 
tion.    And  then  we'll  see  what  Sabina  says." 

But  Philip  Drexcl  had  himself  already  cut  out  one  portion  of 
their  travelling  programme — that  referring  to  the  Braes  of  Yar- 
row. He  seemed  to  have  lost  interest  in  the  gray  and  shadowy 
figure  which,  in  his  London  dreams,  he  had  pictured  as  on  Yar- 
row's banks,  with  a  world  of  mystic  gloom  around  her.  For  even 
as  the  blood  of  an  anaemic  person  is  flushed  by  fresh  air  and  sun- 
light and  exercise,  so  Mr.  Philip's  imagination,  under  the  constant 
stimulus  of  historical  and  legendary  scenes  and  associations — to 
say  nothing  of  the  brisker  health  begotten  of  rowing  and  climb- 
ing and  moorland  tramping — had  wanned  into  color.  Among 
Lindsay's  books  he  had  discovered  the  ballad  of  Fair  Annie  ;  and 
he  had  gradually  put  away  from  him  the  gray  phantom  of  Yar- 
row's banks  for  this  brighter,  if  still  pensive,  figure — that  of  the 
forsaken  mistress  who  is  bidden  to  "lace  her  in  green  cleiding" 
and  "  braid  her  yellow  hair,"  that  she  may  welcome  home  the 

bride : 

"  Fair  Annie  stood  in  her  bower  door, 
And  lookit  owcr  the  land  ; 
And  there  she  saw  iier  ain  gude  lord 
Leading  his  biide  by  the  hand. 

"She's  drest  her  sons  i'  the  scarlet  red. 
Herself  i'  the  dainty  green  ; 
And  though  Iier  cheek  looked  pale  and  wan, 
She  weel  might  ha'  been  a  queen." 

This  was  what  he  was  busy  with  now ;  and  so  the  visit  to  Yar- 
row's haunted  stream  was  discarded,  or  at  least  postponed,  and 
there  was  so  much  the  more  time  to  add  on  to  their  lingerino-  in 
the  pleasant  Kingdom  of  Galloway. 

When  Philip  asked  Lindsay  to  keep  them  on  for  another  week, 
he  wound  up  his  not  ineffectual  prayer  by  saying, 

"  And  the  best  thing  you  can  do  at  the  end  of  the  time  is  to 
come  along  with  us.  Moping  down  here  won't  do  you  any  good. 
Come  with  us  for  a  run  through  Scotland,  and  then  go  back  to 
London  with  us." 

But  Lindsay  would  not  hear  of  it. 

"I  should  be  a  continual  drag  on  you,  and  you  have  plenty  to 
do.  Besides,  I  have  grown  familiar  with  this  place;  I  can  get 
about  a  little  even  when  Jamie  isn't  by.     Of  course  I  shall  have 


436  SABINA    ZEMBRA. 

to  be  in  London  for  a  brief  time :  we  shall  meet  tlien.  In  the 
mean  while,  Pliil,  my  lad,  don't  talk  about  your  going,  there's 
a  good  fellow.  I  don't  want  even  to  think  of  it — until  it's 
over." 

If  these  days,  then,  were  now  numbered,  at  least  they  were 
halcyon  days.  The  visitors  had  not  committed  the  usual  mistake 
of  English  folk  in  going  to  Scotland  just  at  the  very  worst  time 
of  the  year  for  weather.  And  how  quickly  the  time  passed  !  In 
the  morning,  after  breakfast,  they  all  went  outside,  for  the  mign- 
onette was  sweet  in  the  soft  June  air;  and  if  Janie  and  Philip 
generally  strolled  off  by  themselves,  Sabina  had  found  out  for  her- 
self a  warm  bank  at  the  southern  edge  of  the  lawn,  where  it  was 
pleasant  to  sit.  Thither  she  brought  Lindsay's  chair,  and  the 
daily  batch  of  newspapers;  and  she  could  make  a  shrewd  guess 
as  to  what  interested  him  most  when  she  began  to  read — not  the 
squabbling  of  Synods  and  Presbyteries,  and  not  the  sham  objur- 
gation of  party  politics,  but  rather  the  reports  from  the  salmon 
rivers,  and  accounts  of  any  new  picture -exhibition  in  London. 
Then  the  wagonette  would  come  round  to  the  door,  the  stragglers 
would  be  summoned  to  get  ready,  and  presently  they  would  be 
driving  away  along  the  coast,  or  up  and  over  the  wild  moorland 
country,  until,  at  mid-day,  they  sought  out  some  sheltered  spot  for 
opening  the  luncheon-basket.  The  afternoon  Mr.  Philip  usually 
devoted  to  desperate  attempts  at  acquiring  the  art  of  fly-fishing 
— from  a  boat  on  a  small  loch  hard  by.  Sometimes  the  others 
accompanied  him ;  and  it  was  very  little  the  two  women  knew  of 
the  imminent  peril  they  were  in  from  the  erratic  cast  of  flies,  es- 
pecially when  there  was  a  bit  of  a  breeze  on  behind  the  fisher- 
man. Lindsay,  of  course,  could  not  see  ;  and  the  saturnine  Jamie, 
sitting  at  the  oars,  merely  sniggered  to  himself  and  said  nothing; 
but  nevertheless  Mr.  Philip  flogged  away  with  his  variegated  cast 
of  Zulu,  Blue  Dun,  and  Coch-y-bondu  ;  and  if  he  sometimes  caught 
np  in  his  own  clothes,  or  occasionally  lodged  the  Coch-y-bondu 
in  the  gunwale  of  the  boat  behind  him,  these  were  but  trifling 
mishaps;  and  eventually  his  patience  and  resolution  were  on 
most  occasions  rewarded  by  the  capture  of  a  few  innocent  small 
things  attracted  by  the  passage  of  the  drop-fly  across  the  surface. 
Then  home  to  dinner;  after  which  there  was  smoking  and  chat- 
ting and  music;  sometimes,  on  these  warm-scented  June  nights, 
they  opened  the  French  windows  and  went  abroad  in  the  stillness, 


AT   CARNEY  AN   TOWER,  437 

for  there  was  moonlight  now  ;  and  it  was  strange  to  hear  in  the 
silence  the  occasional  soft  mewing  of  some  distant  sea-gull,  or  the 
whistle  of  a  curlew  down  by  the  shore. 

On  the  last  night  of  all  these  nights,  Philip  proposed  that  they 
should  walk  up  to  the  old  tower,  to  have  a  last  look  at  the  coast 
and  the  silvered  sea.  All  this  evening  Lindsay  had  been  silent 
and  preoccupied ;  Sabina  had  tried  her  best  to  cheer  him,  but 
without  avail ;  no  one  had  dared  to  speak  of  the  departure  on 
the  morrow ;  and  indeed  the  restraint  on  all  of  them  was  only 
too  obvious.  So  this  proposal  was  rather  gladly  accepted ;  and 
when  they  went  out  into  the  hushed  night,  Janie  and  her  hus- 
band led  the  way,  as  was  their  wont,  and  Sabina  followed  with 
Lindsay,  her  hand  just  hovering  near  his  arm. 

It  was  a  beautiful  night,  and  the  farther  they  climbed  the  steep 
ascent  the  more  they  could  see  of  the  still,  moonlit  water,  and 
the  successive  gray  promontories  running  out  away  to  the  south. 
There  was  not  a  sound ;  even  the  sea-birds  were  silent  now  ;  and 
the  whispering  of  the  ripples  along  the  shore  was  too  faint  to 
reach  them  here.  And  Sabina  had  ceased  to  try  to  entertain 
him;  her  own  heart  was  not  over-light;  perhaps  she  felt  there 
was  much  to  say  that  she  could  not  say. 

When  they  reached  the  tower,  which  was  part  of  the  ruins  of 
a  stronghold  built  by  the  Robert  Lindsay  who  fell  at  Otterbourne, 
they  found  that  Philip  and  Janie  had  gone  inside,  and  were  try- 
ing to  make  their  way  up  to  the  top.  Sabina  did  not  choose  to 
follow  them ;  she  seated  herself  on  one  of  the  big  stones  lying 
all  about,  and  Lindsay  remained  standing  by  her  side,  his  fingers 
just  touching  lier  dress  near  the  shoulder,  that  he  should  know 
she  was  there. 

For  some  little  while  there  was  silence ;  then  she  said  (recur- 
ring to  her  duties  for  the  last  time), 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  the  sea  so  still.  And  there  is  a  small 
steamer  right  in  the  way  of  the  moonlight — jet  black  it  is — it 
is  so  strange  to  see  it  slowly  crossing  that  wide  silver  pathway. 
Where  will  it  be  going?     Over  to  Ireland?" 

He  paid  no  heed  to  her  question  ;  it  was  not  of  the  sea  he  was 
thinking. 

"  So  you  are  really  going  away  to-morrow  ?"  he  said,  in  rather 
a  low  voice. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  simply,  "and  I  have  no  heart  in  going," 


438  SABINA   ZEMBEA. 

Then,  with  an  effort,  she  gathered  courage  to  say  what  she 
wished  to  say. 

"  You  must  not  imagine  that  I  go  willingly.  I  think  I  have 
been  of  some  little  service  to  you.  I  think  you  like  me  to  be 
with  you.  And  I  would  like  to  stay  if  I  could.  You  did  not 
forsake  me — in  my  time  of  trouble.  If  I  am  going,  I  have  no 
heart  in  going;  believe  that." 

The  hand  that  was  so  near  her  touched  her;  it  was  trembling 
a  little. 

"  Sabina,  you  almost  make  me  spoak  when  I  had  determined 
to  keep  silent ;  and  if  I  could — "  But  here  he  paused  for  a  sec- 
ond. "  No,  not  yet — not  as  I  am  now — I  cannot.  But  perhaps 
hereafter — it  may  be  different;  I  must  wait — and  then — if  it  is 
different — I  will  come  to  you." 

She  could  not  fail  to  understand. 

"  You  do  not  trust  me,"  she  said.  "Do  you  think  that  would 
make  any  difference  to  me?" 

lie  bent  down  a  little ;  perhaps  it  was  to  listen  for  the  least 
sound  of  her  voice ;  it  was  a  habit  he  had  got  into  since  his  eye- 
sight had  left  him. 

"  Sabina,  if  the  worst  were  to  happen — would  you  still  have 
pity  on  me  ?" 

For  answer  she  took  the  hand  that  was  hovering  over  her 
shoulder,  and  held  it  in  both  of  hers,  and  kissed  it. 

"  My  best  and  dearest  friend,"  she  said,  and  there  was  even  a 
touch  of  pride  in  her  simple  self-surrender,  "  I  wish  to  be  with 
you  always;  but,  if  that  were  to  happen — then  more  than  ever." 


CHAPTER  LII. 

AT  A  PICTURE  SHOW. 


Walter  Lindsay  neither  let  nor  sold  his  town -house  and 
studio.  On  all  sides  he  was  informed  that  the  most  skilful 
oculists  in  the  world  were  to  be  found  in  London ;  and  when 
the  time  was  drawing  nigh  for  the  operation  for  cataract  to  be 
performed,  he  repaired  thither.  Nor  did  Janie  and  Philip  and 
Sabina  leave  him  much  chance  of  sinking  into  a  nervous  appre- 
hension and  gloom.     Nearly  every  evening  they  went  round  to 


AT   A   PICTURE-SHOW.  439 

his  studio — for  Sabina  was  staying  with  tliese  good  friends  just 
then,  and  Lindsay  and  they  were  near  neighbors.  Sometimes 
Sabina  took  to  him,  or  sent  him,  flowers.    It  was  a  fair  exchange. 

"  Oh,  dinna  ye  mind,  love  Gregory, 
Wheu  we  sate  at  the  wine, 
How  we  changed  the  napkins  frae  our  necks? 
It's  no  sae  lang  sinsyne." 

In  her  time  of  trouble  he  had  shown  her  a  kindness  that  she 
treasured  in  her  inmost  heart;  and  now  it  was  her  turn,  in  a 
smaller  but  in  no  unwilling  way,  to  pay  him  all  kinds  of  little 
attentions,  and  send  him  daily  remembrances.  They  were  not 
undervalued  by  the  recipient  of  them. 

During  the  week  of  suspense  that  followed  the  operation  Janie 
was  terribly  anxious,  Sabina  much  less  so.  Indeed,  her  apparent 
or  schooled  indifference  not  only  surprised  Janie,  but  pained  her, 
and  she  ventured  to  remonstrate. 

"  Even  if  the  worst  should  happen,"  Sabina  said,  calmly,  "  I  am 
quite  prepared  for  it;  it  will  not  be  so  very  dreadful." 

"  Sable  !  have  you  no  regard  for  his  fame  as  a  painter  ?" 

*'  I  have  a  greater  regard  for  his  love,"  was  the  answer  (these 
two  being  alone  together  at  the  time). 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sabie  ?  Would  yon  rather  have  him 
ahvays  dependent  on  you — is  that  what  you  mean?  It  can't  be 
that  you  imagine,  if  he  were  to  recover  his  eyesight,  he  would 
care  for  you  any  the  less,  when  you  know  quite  well  that  never 
in  all  your  life  were  you  looking  as  pretty  as  you  are  now — that 
can't  be  it?" 

"  Janie,  don't  talk  as  if  my  interests  should  be  thought  of  at 
all,"  Sabina  answered.  "  Of  course,  if  Walter  gets  back  his  sight, 
that  will  be  a  joyful  day  for  all  of  us.  But  if  it  isn't  to  be — well, 
we  will  do  what  we  can  to  make  his  life  pleasant  for  him,  and  I 
for  one  am  not  going  to  be  downcast,  even  at  the  worst." 

But  she  was  hardly  under  such  good  control  on  the  momentous 
day  when  tlie  examination  was  to  be  made.  She  and  Philip  and 
Janie  were  all  in  the  house;  the  doctor  was  in  the  room  up-stairs. 
It  had  been  hinted  to  them  that,  as  far  as  it  was  possible  for  med- 
ical skill  to  judge,  there  was  every  reason  to  believe  that  the 
operation  would  prove  to  liave  been  successful ;  but,  notwith- 
standing that,  Janie  was  very  visibly  agitated,  and  Sabina,  though 
holding  herself  in  restraint,  seemed  to  be  listening  intently,  as  if 


440  SABINA    ZEMBUA. 

for  some  foot-fall  on  t!ie  stair,  and  slie  started  at  the  smallest 
sound.  Janie,  indeed,  could  not  keep  slill.  She  went  from  one 
place  to  another.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  any  of  tliera.  At 
last  she  left  the  room,  and  crept  noiselessly  up  the  staircase,  and 
Imng  about  the  landing.  She  could  hear  them  speaking  within; 
surely  those  voices  were  cheerful  enough ! 

Suddenly  the  door  was  opened. 

"  Good-by  for  the  present." 

"You'll  tell  them,  doctor?" 

"Oh  yes;  they're  waiting  below.  They  won't  have  left,  de- 
pend on  it." 

Then  he  shut  the  door,  and  the  next  moment  was  confronted 
in  the  dusk  by  this  poor,  timorous,  apprehensive,  speechless  ghost. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,"  said  he.      "  Very  satisfactory  indeed." 

Janie  flew  down  the  steps  —  how,  she  could  never  afterwards 
understand — and  rushed  into  the  room. 

"Sabie!  Sabie!" 

And  then  her  arms  were  round  her  friend's  neck,  and  she  was 
kissing  her  on  one  cheek  and  the  other  cheek,  again  and  again 
and  again.  It  was  all  the  message  she  could  deliver — but  it  was 
understood  between  those  two. 

A  long  time  after  that — last  June,  indeed — it  was  announced 
that  on  a  certain  day  there  would  be  opened  in  Bond  Street  an 
exhibition  of  water- color  drawings  and  sketches,  chiefly  of  the 
river  Shannon  ;  and  on  the  previous  Saturday  there  was  a  Private 
View,  at  which  a  large  number  of  the  artists'  friends  were  assem- 
bled. It  was  a  goodly  display,  considering  that  most  of  the  series 
had  been  produced  within  eighteen  months — though  some  of  the 
drawings  were  of  an  earlier  date.  It  was  one  of  these  other  ones 
that  seemed  to  have  caught  the  fancy  of  a  noble  and  gracious  lady, 
who  would  insist  on  Lindsay  going  round  the  room  with  her  ;  and 
so  profuse  were  her  praises  that,  in  order  to  get  away  from  them, 
he  said, 

"Yes,  I  like  that  one  myself,  for  it  was  just  underneath  those 
trees  that  I  caught  a  twenty-eiglit-pound  salmon." 

"  Really  now  !"  said  this  good  lady  ;  "  how  very  interesting ! 
Twenty-eight  pounds — that  must  have  been  a  large  fish.  What 
did  you  do  with  it  ?" 

"  I  sent  it  to  Sabina  Zcrabra." 


AT   A   PICTURE-SHOW.  441 

*'  Sabina  Zembra  ?"  she  said,  inquiringly.     "  Who  is  that  ?" 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  There  she  is,  over  in  that  corner,  talking 
to  the  little  old  gentleman  with  the  ear-trunapet,"  said  Lindsay, 
looking  towards  a  tall  young  woman  in  a  dress  of  silver-gray  plush, 
with  a  beef-eater's  hat  of  the  same  material,  and  with  one  deep 
crimson  rose  at  her  breast. 

"  But  that  is  your  wife,"  said  this  noble  person,  peering  through 
her  eye-glasses.  "  Ah,  I  see.  That  was  her  name,  was  it  ?  What 
a  very  extraordinary  present  to  send  a  young  lady  !" 

"What  else  could  I  send  her — from  the  Shannon?"  he  asked. 

At  this  moment  Janie  came  along. 

"  It's  all  right,"  she  said,  in  an  undertone  ;  "  Phil  has  been  down 
to  some  place  in  Piccadilly,  and  got  a  room  where  we  shall  be  by 
ourselves.  Sabie  and  I  will  follow  whenever  we  see  you  going  to 
the  door.     And  Phil  is  waiting  outside." 

The  consequence  of  this  mancEuvre  was  that,  a  few  minutes 
thereafter,  these  four  were  seated  at  lunch  in  a  private  room  of  a 
well-known  restaurant ;  and  they  seemed  rather  glad  of  this  respite 
from  their  public  duties. 

"When  I  first  thought  of  having  an  exhibition  of  this  kind," 
Lindsay  said,  "  my  wildest  hope  was  that  that  young  woman  there 
would  condescend  to  come  to  the  Private  View.  I  little  expected, 
to  see  her  mistress  of  the  show." 

"  I  assure  you  that  it  is  remarkably  nice,"  Sabina  said.  "  You've 
no  idea  what  pretty  things  have  been  said  to  me  this  morning. 
And  do  you  think  I  was  going  to  make  any  protest?  That 
wouldn't  have  been  business-like.  I  felt  far  more  inclined  to  say, 
'Good  gentleman,  or  pretty  lady,  your  opinion  is  quite  correct; 
and  will  you  buy  ?'  " 

"  You  mercenary  wretch!  However,  we've  little  cause  to  com- 
plain on  that  score;  and  I  mean  to  make  our  holiday  this  year  a 
thorough-going  one.  I  suppose  you  have  got  everything  ready 
for  Monday  morning,  Philip — rods  and  nets  and  everything?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

"Oh,"  continued  Lindsay,  "I  heard  a  pretty  story  about  you 
the  last  time  I  had  to  run  down  to  Wigtonshire.  The  boy  Jamie 
says  that  when  you  were  fishing  from  the  boat  you  were  continu- 
ally catching  up  on  the  gunwale  behind  you.  Now  how  did  you 
manage  that?  You  must  have  doubled  the  flies  right  behind. 
And  do  you  know  you  were  whisking  them  past  people's  faces?" 
19* 


442  SABINA   ZEMBBA. 

"  Can  tlic  boy  Jamie  use  a  rod  himself?"  Mr.  Pliilip  asked. 

"  Oh  Ycs,  Jamie  can  throw  a  fly." 

*'  Then  perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  for  the  yonng  ruffian 
to  liave  given  nic  some  advice  instead  of  treasuring  up  a  tale 
about  it." 

"  Never  mind;  we'll  show  you  how  to  lift  your  line  behind  you 
•when  we're  all  back  in  Galloway  again.  Yes,  and  there's  some 
nobler  sport  for  you,  my  lad,  when  we  go  on  to  Cromarty ;  wait 
till  you  find  yourself  fighting  a  thirty-pounder — then  Janie  will 
have  to  be  by  to  give  a  scream  when  you  bring  him  to  bank." 

Coffee  and  cigars  were  brought  in ;  but  the  little  party  could 
not  idle  here  much  longer;  the  artist  had  to  go  back  to  receive 
his  patrons  and  friends.     As  they  were  going  down-stairs  he  said, 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Phil,  I  reckon  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  some 
time  or  other,  but  if  I  don't,  mind  you  come  a  bit  early  on  Mon- 
day morning.  Euston  Station,  9.45 — that's  the  watchword  ;  and 
then, '  7\ike  your  seats  for  the  North  P  " 

It  only  remains  to  be  added  that  Su"  Anthony  Zcmbra,  who  has 
at  length  had  the  honor  of  office  conferred  on  him,  came  to  the 
show  that  afternoon,  and  was  vastly  complimentary.  At  the  din- 
ner-tables which  he  adorns  with  his  handsome  presence  he  is  quite 
fond  of  talking  of  his  son-in-law  ;  and  at  the  last  banquet  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  on  being  called  on  to  answer  for  the  House  of 
Commons,  he  made  pointed  reference  to  bis  own  personal  and 
immediate  association  with  x\rt. 


THEIR  PILGRIMAGE. 

By  Charles  Dudley  Warner.     Richly  Illiistratod  by  C.  S. 
Reinhart.     pp.  viii.,  3(34.     8vo,  Half  Leather,  $2  00. 


Aside  from  the  delicious  story — its  wonderful  portraitures  of  character 
and  its  dramatic  development — the  book  is  precious  to  all  who  know  any- 
thing about  the  great  American  watering-places,  for  it  contains  incompar- 
able descriptions  of  those  famous  resorts  and  tlieir  frequenters.  Even 
without  the  aid  of  Mr.  Reinhart's  brilliant  drawings,  Mr.  Warner  conjures 
up  word-pictures  of  Cape  May,  Newport,  Saratoga,  Lake  George,  Richfield 
Springs,  Niagara,  the  White  Mountains,  and  all  the  rest,  whicii  strike  the 
eye  like  photographs,  so  clear  is  every  outline.  But  Mr.  Reinliart's  de- 
signs fit  into  the  text  so  closely  that  we  could  not  bear  to  part  with  a 
single  one  of  them.  "Tlieir  Pilgrimage"  is  destined,  for  an  indefinite 
succession  of  summers,  to  be  a  ruling  favorite  with  all  visitors  of  the 
mountains,  the  beaches,  and  the  spas  which  are  so  marvellously  reflected 
in  its  pages. — N.  Y.  Journal  of  Commerce. 

The  author  touches  the  canvas  here  and  there  with  lines  of  color  that 
fix  and  identify  American  character.  Herein  is  the  real  charm  for  those 
who  like  it  best,  and  for  this  one  may  anticipate  that  it  will  be  one  of  the 
proniinent  books  of  the  time.  Of  the  fancy  and  humor  of  Mr.  Warner, 
which  in  witchery  of  their  play  and  power  are  quite  independent  of  this 
or  that  subject,  there  is  nothing  to  add.  But  acknowledgment  is  due  Mr. 
Reinhart  for  nearly  eighty  finely  conceived  drawings,  and  to  the  publishers 
for  the  substantial  and  rich  letter-press  and  covers. — Boston.  Globe. 

No  moie  entertaining  travelling  companions  for  a  tour  of  pleasure  re- 
sorts could  be  wished  for  than  those  who  in  Mr.  Warner's  pages  chat  and 
laugh,  and  skim  the  cream  of  all  the  enjoyment  to  be  found  from  Mount 
Washington  to  the  Sulphur  Springs.  ,  .  ,  His  pen-pictures  of  the  charac- 
ters typical  of  each  resort,  of  the  manner  of  life  followed  at  each,  of  the 
humor  and  absurdities  peculiar  to  Saratoga,  or  Newport,  or  Bar  Harbor, 
as  the  case  may  be,  are  as  good-natured  as  they  are  clever.  Tiie  satire, 
when  there  is  any,  is  of  the  mildest,  and  the  general  tone  is  that  of  one 
glad  to  look  on  the  brightest  side  of  the  cheerful,  pleasure-seeking  world 
with  which  he  mingles.  ...  In  Mr.  Reinliart  the  author  has  an  assistant 
who  has  done  with  his  pencil  almost  exactly  what  Mr.  Warner  has  accom- 
plished with  his  pen.  His  drawings  are  spirited,  catch  witii  wonderful 
success  the  tone  and  costume  of  each  place  visited,  and  abound  in  good- 
natured  fun. — Chrulian  Union,  N.  Y. 

Mr.  Reinhart's  spirited  and  realistic  illustrations  are  very  attractive,  and 
contribute  to  make  an  unusually  iiandsome  book.  We  have  already  com- 
mented upon  the  earlier  chapters  of  the  text;  and  the  hapjjy  blending  of 
travel  and  fiction  which  we  looked  forward  to  with  confidence  did,  in  fact, 
distinguish  this  story  among  the  serials  of  the  year. — N.  Y.  Evnni>i(f  Post. 


PcnLiSHED  BY  IIAllPEIl  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

ty  The.above  work  sent  by  mail,  pontage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States 
or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  tlie  price. 


H.  RIDER  HAGGARD'S  NOVELS. 


SHE :   A  HISTORY  OF  ADVENTURE.     Profusely  Illustrat- 
ed.    4to,  Paper,  25  cents;  16mo,  Half  Bound.     {Li  Press.) 

There  are  color,  splendor,  and  passion  everywhere;  action  in  abundance; 
constant  variety  and  absorbinij  interest.  Mv.  Haijgard  does  not  err  on  the 
side  of  iiigj;ardlincss ;  he  is  only  loo  affluent  in  description  and  ornament.  .  .  . 
There  is  a  larjjeness,  a  freshness,  and  a  strength  about  him  which  are  fnll  of 
promise  and  encoura<;einent,  the  more  since  he  has  placed  liimself  so  unmis- 
takably on  the  romantic  side  of  liction;  that  is,  on  the  side  of  truth  and  per- 
manent value.  ...  lie  is  already  one  of  the  foremost  modern  romance  writers. 
—.V.  y.  World. 

It  seems  to  mc  that  Mr.  Ilagsjard  has  supplied  to  us  in  this  book  the  com- 
plement of  "  Dr.  .Jcckyl."  He'Uas  shown  us  what  woman's  love  for  man  real- 
ly means. — The  Juuriudixl. 

One  cannot  too  much  applaud  Mr.  Haggard  for  his  power  in  working  np  to 
a  weird  situation  and  lioldiiig  the  reader  at  llie  ghost-story  jjitch  without  ever 
absolutely  entering  the  realm  of  the  supernatural.  ...  It  is  a  story  to  be  read 
at  one  sitlinir,  not  in  weekly  parts.  But  its  sensationalism  is  fresh  and  stir- 
ring: its  philosophy  is  conveyed  in  pages  that  glow  with  tine  images  and 
cliann  the  reader  like  the  melodious  verse  of  Swinburne. — .V.  Y.  Times. 

One  of  the  most  peculiar,  vivid,  and  absorbing  stories  we  have  read  for  a 
long  time. — Boston  Times. 

JESS.     A  Is  ovel.     4to,  Paper,  15  cents ;  16mo,  Half  Bound,  75 
cents. 

Mr.  Haggard  has  a  genius,  not  to  say  a  great  talent,  for  story-telling.  .  . . 
That  he  sliould  have  a  large  circle  of  readers  in  England  and  this  country, 
where  so  many  are  trying  to  tell  stories  with  no  stories  to  tell,  is  a  healthy 
sign,  in  that  it'sliows  that  the  love  of  tielion,  pure  and  simple,  is  as  strong  as 
it  was  in  tlie  d.iys  of  Dickens  and  Thackeray  and  Scott,  the  older  days  of 
Smollett  and  Fielding,  and  the  old,  old  days  of  Le  Sage  and  Cervantes. — y.Y. 
Mail  a»d  Kxprtss. 

This  bare  ^ketch  of  the  story  gives  no  conception  of  the  beauty  of  the  love- 
passages  between  Jess  and  Niel,orof  the  many  flue  touches  iuteipolated  by 
the  auilior. — St.  Lovis  Republican. 

Another  feast  of  South  African  life  and  marvel  for  those  who  revelled  in 
"  She." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

The  siory  has  special  and  novel  interest  for  the  spirited  reproduction  of  life, 
character,  scenes,  and  incidents  peculiar  to  the  Transvaal. — Boston.  Adoertiser. 

Mr.  llagirard  is  remarkable  for  his  fertility  of  invention.  .  .  .  The  story,  like 
the  rest  of  his  stories,  is  lull  of  romance,  movement,  action,  color,  passion. 
"Jess"  is  to  he  commended  because  it  is  what  it  pretends  to  be — a  storj'. — 
Philadelphia  Times. 

KING  SOLOMON'S  ]\IINES.     A  Novel.     4to,  Paper,  20  cents; 
16nio,  Half  Bound.     {In  Press.) 

Few  stories  of  the  season  are  more  exciting  than  this,  for  it  contains  an 
account  of  the  discovery  of  the  lej:endary  mines  of  King  Solomon  in  South 
Africa.  The  style  :8  quaint  and  lealisiic  throughout,  and  the  adventures  of 
the  explorers  in  the  land  of  the  Kuknana  are  fnll  of  stirring  incidents.  The 
Characters,  too,  are  vigorously  drawn.— AVio.s  and  Courier,  CImrleston. 

This  novel  has  achieved  a  wnnderful  i)opularily.  It  is  one  of  the  best  sell- 
ing books  of  the  season,  and  it  deserves  its  great  success.— T/o^  Daily  Press. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

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R.  D.  BLACKMOEE'S   NOVELS. 


Mr.  Blackmore  always  writes  like  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman.— Athenceum, 
Loiuton. 

His  descriptions  are  wonderfully  vivid  and  natural.  His  pages  are  bright- 
ened everywhere  with  great  humor;  the  quaint,  dry  turns  of  thought  remind 
you  occasionally  of  Fielding London  Times. 

His  tales,  all  of  them,  are  pre-eminently  meritorious.  They  are  remark- 
able for  their  careful  eliiboration,  the  cons^cientious  flnif^h  of  Iheir  workman- 
ship, tlieir  :iffluence  of  striking  dramatic  and  narrative  incident,  their  close 
observation  and  general  interpretation  of  nature,  their  profusion  of  pictur- 
esque description,  and  their  quiet  and  sustained  humor.  Besides,  tliey  aie 
pervaded  by  a  hriglit  and  elastic  atmosphere  which  diffuses  a  cheery  feeling 
of  healthful  and  rnbust  vigor.  Wliile  they  charm  us  by  Iheir  sprightly  vivac- 
ity and  their  naturalness,  they  never  in  the  slightest  degree  transcend  the 
lim.  3  of  delicacy  or  srood  taste.  While  radiating  warmth  and  brightness,  they 
are  as  pure  as  the  new-fallen  snow.  .  .  .  Their  literary  e.xecntion  is  admirable, 
and  tlieir  dramatic  power  is  as  exceptional  as  their  moral  imvity.— Christian 
Jntelligencer,  N.  Y. 

ALICE  LORRAINE.  A  Tale  of  the  South  Downs.  8vo,  Pa- 
per, 50  cents. 

CHRISTOWELL.    4to,  Paper.  20  cents. 

CLARA  VAUGIIAK    4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 

CRADOCK  NOWELL.    8vo,  Paper,  60  cents. 

CRIPPS,  THE  CARRIER.  A  Woodland  Tale.  Illustrated, 
8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

EREMA ;  Or,  My  Father's  Sin.     Svo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

LORNA  DOONE.     Svo,  Paper,  25  cents  ;  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

MARY  ANERLEY.  A  Yorkshire  Tale.  16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00; 
4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 

SPRINGIIAVEN.  A  Tale  of  the  Great  War.  12uio,  Cloth, 
Illustrated  by  Alfred  Parsons  and  F.  Barnard,  $1  50; 
4lo,  Paper,  20  cents. 

THE  MAID  OF  SKER.     Svo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

THE  REM.\RKABLE  HISTORY  OF  SIR  TIIO:\IAS  UP- 
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35  cents ;  Cloth,  50  cents. 


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BEN-IIUR:  A  TALE  OF  THE  CHRIST, 


By  LeWo  Wallace,     New  Edition,     pp.  552.     16ino, 
Cloth,  $1  50. 

Anything  so  startling,  new,  and  distinctive  as  the  leading  feature  of  thia 
romance  does  not  often  appear  in  works  of  fiction.  .  .  .  Some  of  Mr.  Wal- 
lace's writing  is  remarliable  for  its  pathetic  eloquence.  The  scenes  de- 
scribed in  the  New  Testament  are  rewritten  with  the  power  and  skill  of 
an  accomplished  master  of  style. — iV.  Y.  Times. 

Its  real  basis  is  a  description  of  the  life  of  the  Jews  and  Romans  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Christian  era,  and  this  is  both  forcible  and  brilliant.  .  .  . 
We  are  carried  through  a  surprising  variety  of  scenes;  we  witness  a  sea- 
fight,  a  chariot-race,  the  internal  economy  of  a  Roman  galley,  domestic  in- 
teriors at  Antioch,  at  Jerusalem,  and  among  the  tribes  of  the  desert;  pal- 
aces, prisons,  the  haunts  of  dissipated  Roman  youth,  the  houses  of  pious 
families  of  Israel.  There  is  plenty  of  exciting  incident;  everything  is 
animated,  vivid,  and  glowing. — N.  Y.  Trihune. 

From  the  opening  of  the  volume  to  the  very  close  the  reader's  interest 
will  be  kept  at  the  highest  pitch,  and  the  novel  will  be  pronounced  by  all 
one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  the  day. — Boston  Post. 

It  is  full  of  poetic  beauty,  as  though  bom  of  an  Eastern  sage,  and  there 
is  sufficient  of  Oriental  customs,  geography,  nomenclature,  etc.,  to  greatly 
strengthen  the  semblance. — Boston  Commonwealth. 

"Ben-Hur"  is  interesting,  and  its  characterization  is  fine  and  strong. 
Meanwhile  it  evinces  careful  study  of  the  period  in  which  the  scene  is  laid, 
and  will  help  those  who  read  it  with  reasonable  attention  to  realize  the 
nature  and  conditions  of  Hebrew  life  in  Jerusalem  and  Roman  life  at 
Antioch  at  the  time  of  our  Saviour's  advent. — Examiner,  N.  Y. 

It  is  really  Scriptnre  history  of  Christ's  time  clothed  gracefully  and 
delicately  in  the  flowing  and  loose  drapery  of  modern  fiction.  .  .  .  Few  late 
works  of  fiction  excel  it  in  genuine  ability  and  interest. — N.  Y.  Graphic. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  delightful  books.  It  is  as  real  and 
warm  as  life  itself,  and  as  attractive  as  the  grandest  and  most  heroic 
chapters  of  history. — Indianapolis  Journal. 

The  book  is  one  of  unquestionable  power,  and  will  be  read  with  un- 
wonted interest  by  many  readers  who  are  weary  of  the  conventional  novel 
and  romance. — Boston  Journal. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

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